


Marauder Novus

by Aelys_Althea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Genius, Criminal Behaviour, Darkens, Deception, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, Humour, M/M, Marauders, Mischief, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Other, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Hogwarts, Somewhat Dramatic Themes on the Horizon, Superb Manipulation Skills, Technically Epilogue Compliant, Unlikely Friendships, Varying Houses, correctional facility, past and future, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: They were opposites, but that hardly mattered. Not in the greater scheme of things. What mattered was that they clicked. Some clicks, fitting with the perfection of puzzle pieces, made history. Some wrought disaster. Just which would arise from their fated cleaving was yet to be. Potters, Malfoys, Weasleys, and Muggleborns. They were a mixture that could only go one of two ways.





	1. Interlude: Legends

Carma Institute was nothing like Azkaban.

Many considered it a correctional facility, but such wasn't expressly accurate. Others called it a support centre, but it wasn't quite that, either. A magically concealed complex, the vast expanse of it spread in an underground network of high-ceilinged corridors and false windows beaming magical sunlight into its interior. Its white walls were pristinely clean, vinyl floors polished to click beneath heels and slap under socked feet. Rooms, clustered together like terraces, were plated with names like 'three-hundred and sixteen' or 'ninety-nine'.

Magic thrummed throughout. It rippled through the doors, firing regular reports to the staff observation room. It turned watchful eyes upon the residents as they lounged with relative ease in those very rooms, in the common areas, in the mess hall.

Those residents didn't act much like inmates. It was but another reason many considered Carma to be something less than a prison. That those very residents couldn't up and leave was about the only inhibiting factor of the mix.

That, and the routine. August Ashberry learned on his first day just how enforced that routine was. And it started with the breakfast.

August didn't think he deserved his sentence at the correctional facility. He didn't think his supposed 'crimes' warranted it. It didn't stop him from remaining close-lipped about those 'illicit activities', however. He wasn't a fool.

And neither, it seemed, were the rest of the residents. Least of all those that deliberately left empty the seats at the table occupied by one specific quartet.

The clatter of his tray and the scrape of his chair passed unnoticed as August took his place at one of those empty seats. The hall itself, as white and clean as the rest of the facility, was flooded with residents arriving and leaving and picking at surprisingly decent if somewhat bland breakfasts. August turned his attention towards his unflavoured porridge, scooping a bite.

It never reached his mouth.

"I'm just saying, that if _someone_ hadn't suggested using the back door, that particular incident could have been easily avoided."

August's attention was drawn across the table to the young woman who'd spoken. She was regarding the mousy-haired woman at her side, her slightly long nose tipped primly into the air as she sniffed.

Her breakfast partner, round-faced and appearing nothing if not unimpressed, gave a deliberate tug upon her companion's curly red fringe. Her hands moved so fast August barely saw them reach before the long-nosed woman yelped indignantly. "You're the one that suggested I lay off 'headlong charging into battle'," she replied, releasing the curl and stabbing her spoon pointedly into her barely touched porridge. "You can't renege on your words so blatantly, Rose."

"Since when have you ever actually listened to Rose's suggestions, Dee?" said the young man three seats and two people along from the mousy-haired woman. White-blond hair cropped short, his sharp-featured face was drawn into an expression of boredom paradoxically mixed with exasperation.

"Shut up, Scor," Dee said.

"I'm allowed to have an opinion."

"Unless it's a stupid opinion."

"You're both stupid, so both of your opinions should be kept to yourselves," Rose said, frowning between the two of them. She grunted, frown turning to a glare, as Dee elbowed her side. "And keep your pointy elbows to yourselves, too."

"Play nice, children," said their fourth member, a dark-haired young man seeming nothing if not distracted with stirring shapes into his breakfast. Or at least he was until his green-eyed gaze flickered up towards August. "We have a guest."

August still hadn't taken a bite, and he doubted he would for the gazes that all swung towards him. Not when _they_ stared at him. Not when even the muted chatter of the surrounding mess hall faded before his dawning understanding.

Because he knew. Suddenly, August knew. His gasp would have been embarrassing had he half a mind to hear it.

Rose.

Dee.

Scor.

And… "You're Albus Potter," he managed.

"It's rude to stare," Scorpius Malfoy said in a dry tone that somehow sounded slightly dangerous. The hooded gaze was even more so.

"Or gawk, more correctly," Deidre Dursley added.

"Unless he has mental deficiencies, in which case it's not his fault," Rose Weasley finished, though her own flat stare bespoke anything but leniency.

Albus Potter only smiled pleasantly. "You're sitting at our table," he said.

August swallowed. "I…"

"People don't usually sit at our table," Rose said, her high-tipped nose pointing towards him accusingly. "For good reasons."

"He's still gawking," Deidre noted.

"He must be an idiot," Scorpius said.

Of course August was staring. How could he not? He'd heard the rumours just as everyone else had, but nothing definite. Nothing to truly solidify the suspicions that they, four of the most renowned young witches and wizards of their generation, had been incarcerated. That they…

"You're really here," August breathed, awe welling within him. _Everyone_ had heard the rumours of what they'd done, even if no one quite knew if it was true. "Unbelievable…"

Albus' smile widened. Strangely, though Deidre glared, Rose sniffed, and Scorpius still regarded him dangerously, it was Albus' smile that was the most unnerving. "Believe it. Welcome to the reality of the criminal youths of the world."

"Though not really 'youths' anymore," Rose said.

"Speak for yourself," Deidre countered, elbowing her once more. "I'm eternally youthful."

"Would you both shut up," Scorpius drawled.

August stared. He still stared, because he couldn't help it. "So you mean you… you all really…?"

"I think he wants to know," Deidre said.

Rose sniffed again. "Typical."

"How unoriginal," Scorpius sighed.

"Would you like to hear?" Albus asked. His slow stirring hadn't ceased in its hypnotic swirling for a second. "The story of the heinous acts that so shocked the Wizarding world?"

"Oh, the horror; that we would so tarnish our family names." Rose smirked.

August nodded. Of course he nodded. They four… they were practically famous in the right circles. In _his_ circles.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Deidre fell back upon her porridge. Rose turned deliberately away from August in dismissal.

And Albus. Albus just smiled. "That, August Ashberry, is something of a secret."

August wasn't even surprised he knew his name. They were, after all, legends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, what do you think?  
> I confess that I have committed an act of hypocrisy; I've begun to post this story before I've finished it (much before, in fact) which is something I said I'd never do. But, given that I've already started posting it elsewhere for a competition, it would be somewhat foolish to avoid doing so here. Right?  
> As such - and at the risk of sounding like a prat - I'd really, really love to know your thoughts and whether you think I should continue. Was it any good? Interesting? Too vague?  
> I've got a couple of chapters already lined up to be posted soon, but I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for taking the time to read this story! I hope you liked it!


	2. Cousins-In-Camaraderie

_~Twelve years earlier~_

* * *

 

The act of grounding as a punishment for bad behaviour wasn't expressly Muggle in origin. In fact, the slightly archaic nature of such a punishment made it more commonly used by the purebloods and upstanding Old Families of Wizarding society.

In the Weasley household, however, the punishment was doled out by a somewhat exasperated Muggleborn mother. Rose Weasley had heard stories that her mother had been 'bossy' at school, something her father and uncle Harry always joked about. Apparently that bossiness hadn't dampened with age.

Sighing heavily, Rose flipped to the next page in her book. Grounded. Again. And this time it hadn't even been her fault. How could she be expected to hold her tongue around the stupidity and unwarranted bullying of her fellow children throughout Godric's Hollow? For many reasons, Rose regretted that her parents had chosen to withdraw into the sleepy little town. 'To be closer to your cousins,' they'd said, as though Flooing just wasn't as convenient. Her old town hadn't been riddled with quite so many daft eight-year-olds as Godric's Hollow seemed to be.

Rose didn't mind being grounded. Not really. Not when it saved her from interacting with the village idiots and gave her an actual reason to bury herself in her books away from the world. She didn't mind – except for that day in particular.

Her one and only friend would likely be somewhat put out for waylaying their opportunity to attend the annual Fair together. Rose regretted that, at least.

Sighing once more, she flipped to the next page of her book. _Voices From The Deep_ , a study into mermaid lore, was a tome of a book her mother had given her the previous Christmas. She'd nearly finished it – for though peppered with words that had her reading a dictionary as often as the book itself, it was terribly interesting – and likely _would_ finish it given another day or two of being grounded.

At any other day, Rose would be quite content for that fact. Not then, however. Not when the Fair was raging barely half a town away and Rose wasn't allowed to go because of some stupid tattletale that had dropped by just yesterday morning.

_"What did you say to him?" her mother asked, hands propping on her hips as she turned from the front door towards Rose._

_"Nothing!" Rose exclaimed, striving for innocence as she turned imploringly towards her mother._

_Alongside them, framed by the doorway, snot-nosed Jake Drovel snuffled and blubbered like a baby as he leaned into his mother's side. Honestly, he was eight years old and still clinging to his mother like a leech? Rose couldn't look at him_ , _for she knew that if she did she would scowl or sneer, and that would certainly give away her innocent act._

_Stupid Jake Drovel. It was all his fault._

_"Rose Weasley, I will not have you lying to me," her mother said, voice deepening dangerously as it always did when she scolded. Her eyes widened meaningfully before she turned towards Mrs Drovel. "I'm so sorry, Julie, I don't know what to say. She's not usually like this."_

_Mrs Drovel, a thin-faced older woman with hair ridiculously sticky with spray, spared Rose a glance that wasn't quite a glare before drawing her gaze to Snivelling Jake. She squeezed his shoulder slightly. "I'm sure it is in no way a fault of your own, Hermione, but I have to ask you to intervene."_

_"Yes, of course," Rose's mother readily agreed._

_"Perhaps if you could encourage Rose to stay away from Jakey and his friends?"_

_Rose almost snorted at her words. 'Jakey'? The stupid tosser; he was_ such _a_ baby _._

_"Yes, yes, of course," Rose's mother repeated. Her assurances continued with increasing fervour for a good five minutes until, finally, she shut the door on the Drovel's._

_Then she turned to Rose._

_Rose couldn't help but shrink slightly into the hallway wall. Her shoulders bunched and she tucked her chin, even if she couldn't quite lose her glare. She could feel her mother's severe gaze resting upon her head. "Sorry, Mum."_

_"Too right you should be sorry," her mother said shortly. "What a horrible thing, to tease another child. What's gotten into you, Rose?"_

He deserved it, _Rose didn't say._ He's a snivelling little snot, always trying to get his way by announcing that his 'mum says' as though that somehow entitles him. The stupid git. _Rose didn't say any of that, just as she didn't explain how the fated incident, the moment that had clearly led to 'Jakey's'_ _running to his mother to tattle, had been entirely his fault._

_If anyone should be apologising, it was he. He'd torn a page in Rose's book, after all. It was only her verbal retaliation that had sent him running and saved her precious book from further damage._

_Rose didn't explain any of that, however. Instead, she glared at her mother's sensible shoes and pressed her lips together to withhold the urge to splutter her indignation. "I'm sorry."_

_"You should be sorry. That someone in this family would possibly…" Her mother trailed off, but the emphasis in her words was telling nonetheless. Rose felt more than saw her shake her head in disappointment. "This isn't going overlooked, Rose."_

_"I know," Rose muttered._

_"You can't just do things like this, even if other children annoy you."_

_"I know, Mum." Even to her own ears, Rose sounded petulant._

_"You're grounded," she said. "For a week. And no going to the Fair tomorrow."_

That had been unexpected, and cruelly so. Rose's glare had faded instantly into desperate pleas because, "Mum, that's not fair! We always go!" The annual Fair was about the most interesting thing that ever happened in Godric's Hollow.

But her mother had been unyielding. Her father too, though Ron Weasley had never been one much for reprimand. Even if Rose's mother was the one who worked more and her father spent most of the time 'looking after the kids', it was always her mother who held the ultimate decision.

Rose tried. She really did try. She tried her utmost to convince her mother with everything she had.

"But Mum, you promised!"

"No, Rose."

"I'll say I'm sorry properly, I swear –"

"I said no."

"But we were supposed to go with –"

"You cousins can survive without your company for a day. That's final, Rose."

Rose had been the closest to tears – _angry_ tears – that she'd been in at least a year for her mother's stubborn finality. It was just _so unfair_. Stupid Jake Drovel. Stupid Godric's Hollow kids. Rose truly didn't like any of them, and even most of her cousins were only just tolerable.

There was only one that she truly enjoyed spending time with. It was the fact that Rose couldn't go to the Fair with Al that she so regretted her mother's grounding.

And now they were all gone. A whole hour ago at least, the entire family had left to go to the Fair without her. Worse than not being able to go, Rose had been left entirely alone, with nothing but a Detection Charm on her bedroom door to keep her inside. Her mother had placed it with a five minute timer; any longer and she'd be alerted to Rose's 'escape', and the scolding Rose would receive would put likely that of the previous day to shame.

So Rose sat in her room. She read through her mermaid book, feet kicking listlessly on the quilted mattress of her bed upon which she sprawled, and regretted every contributing factor that had led to her missing out on the Fair. Her room was utterly dull, the bookshelf of books she'd all completed but for the driest novels far less appealing than it usually was, the boxes of toys she rarely played with and the knick-knacks spread out across her desk nothing short of unremarkable. Even the latest Whirly Whirl from her Uncle George's shop, spinning in endless loops towards every corner of her desk and muttering to itself, couldn't hold her attention.

Life, she had decided, was unutterably unjust. And boring. Rose loved reading, loved learning, but even _that_ seemed boring alongside the prospect of the Fair.

The silence in her room, in the house beyond her closed door, was so complete that when it broke she noticed in an instant. That breaking wasn't sharp, nor loud, but she heard it anyway. Directly beneath her, a whole floor below, the distinctive sound of the front door clicking open sounded.

Rose straightened on her bed. She frowned. It had only been an hour – less than, she realised, with a glance towards her wall clock – so no one should be home yet. Unless it was Hugo who'd forgotten something and only just realised it. Hugo was always forgetting things.

Climbing from her bed, Rose padded upon socked feet towards her door. She cracked it open just slightly, peering beyond. The tinkle of the Detection Charm sounded until she withdrew her head just slightly, but she still peered. "Mum?" A pause, then, "Dad? Did Hugo forget something?"

The sound of footsteps padded along the downstairs hallway. Quite, far quieter than Hugo could manage, and heading for the stairwell. A further patter of feet on carpet, and Rose risked the Detection Charm again to poke her head more fully through the doorway, glancing down the length of the hallway.

Nothing. No one. Until -

"Al?"

Albus Potter appeared like a shadow, poking his own head around the balustrade. He caught Rose's gaze the moment she called his name, and a smile spread across his lips. "Hey, Rosie," he said, scampering up the last of the stairs and making for her room.

Al was, in Rose's opinion, somewhat like a puppy. Maybe it was the mess of his dark hair, or the brightness of his eyes that even then lit up as he slipped past her. It could have been his incessant energy, or the smile that he always wore when they were together – happy, flooded with enthusiasm and mischief.

Rose loved Al. He was definitely her favourite cousin. His unshakeable good humour was somehow infectious, even to her more bookish inclinations. Rose would put her book down if Al asked it of her.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered as she closed the door behind him, and immediately felt something of a fool.

There was no reason to keep her voice down. There was no one else in the house – or at least she didn't think there was – and even if there were, Al was allowed to be there. Grounding never seemed to hold a place in Rose's cousins' – or, more correctly, Al – visitation rights. Most likely such was because Albus Potter was a Good Child, was shy and sweet and could do no wrong. _He'd_ never been reprimanded for teasing a village kid.

He was far too wily to be caught.

Al waited until Rose had turned towards him before replying. Plopping himself onto the end of her bed with the entitlement that Rose herself adopted in his room too, he kicked his legs idly. "You got yourself grounded."

Rose propped her back against the door, sliding downwards until she squatted on the floor. "You noticed?" she said with a huff.

"Duh. You weren't at the Fair, even though you said you'd come with me."

"Sorry," Rose sighed, even if it wasn't her fault.

Al shrugged. "It's not your fault. Let me guess; it was Jake Drovel, right?"

Rose pointed a finger at him and winked with less enthusiasm than the gesture should have entailed. "Bingo."

"What a prat."

"I hate him."

"He's an arse. Everyone will walk all over him whenever he gets to secondary school. He whinges about everything."

"If he even gets to high school. He's kind of dumb, too."

They snickered to one another for a moment before subsiding into brief silence. Rose felt just a little bolstered by their brief exchange. Al was, realistically, her only friend. And he was the only one she wanted, too. Which was why, despite her regret and the company that she actually enjoyed, she propped her arms across her knees, rested her chin atop of them, and mournfully told him to go away.

Al flopped back on her mattress, plucking at the blue quilt cover absently. He was all long, gangly limbs, even if he wasn't very tall, and his fingers always seemed to need to fiddle with something. "Why would I leave?"

"Because there's the Fair," Rose said. She gathered her maturity as much as she could as she urged him to leave again. "Both of us shouldn't have to be punished because one stupid idiot can't keep his mouth shut."

"What I don't understand," Albus said, raising a hand above his head to gesture as he spoke, "is why _you're_ the one in trouble when Jake was the one who ripped your book first."

"I _know_ ," Rose said emphatically.

"Git."

"He's _such_ a git."

"A whingey little git." Al tucked his raised hand behind his head, legs still kicking against the end of the bed. "Good thing he's not a wizard; I don't think I could stand going to Hogwarts if he was there too."

Rose nodded in fervent agreement before drawing the conversation back to the matter at hand. "You should still go, though. Even if Jake is there."

"I want to go with you," Al said, somehow managing to make it sound less of a whine and more a simple statement of fact.

"Yes, but I'm _grounded_. Mum put a charm on my door and everything."

Al raised his head. It was a little difficult to properly see from her squat, but Rose felt as much as saw the expression that spread a smile across his lips. "Your door?"

"Yeah."

"Just your door?"

Rose blinked. "Yeah?"

Al straightened abruptly. With his usual burst of boundless energy, he sprung from her bed and, in a leap, flung himself to the ground at her side. He bumped her shoulder and grinned with mischievous delight in a way that was entirely infectious.

Rose didn't much like people on general principle. A smile was a blessing, in her opinion, and her Nanna Molly had always said she bestowed her own rarely enough. But with Al, she couldn't help but smile, even without quite knowing why he did so first. "What're you planning?"

Al raised an eyebrow. "Who says I'm planning anything?"

"Al, I know you way too well to know when you're _not_."

"You and you only," Al said with a wink. His smile widened as Rose couldn't help but preen just slightly. That was right; Al was _her_ best friend, and she knew him the best, after all.

"So?" she asked. "What is it?"

"We're going to the Fair," Al said promptly.

"I can't, I'm –"

"Grounded, I know."

"And Mum put a –"

"Detection Charm on your door. Yup, I know."

Rose frowned, even if the urge to smile alongside Al was unshakeable. "Are you going to try using your accidental magic again?"

Al was brilliant. Rose knew it, accepted it, and knew that he was brilliant in a way that was different to herself. Rose absorbed knowledge like a starving plant absorbed sunlight. Her mother claimed she had borderline eidetic memory, and she'd done her best to make the 'borderline' thin enough that it hardly mattered.

But Al… Al was brilliant. He was _magically_ brilliant. Rose's aunt Ginny had said he'd first performed accidental magic when he was four by deflecting his brother James' attempt at a food fight. _That_ was remarkable.

Al's grin became impish and somehow slightly chiding. "Rosie, the fact that it's even called accidental magic means that I can't do it when I want to."

"I bet you could," Rose said, tucking her knees to her chest slightly and tipping her chin backwards. "I'm always right, Al, and I bet you could."

"Bet I couldn't."

"You could."

"Couldn't."

"You _could_." Rose raised a hand and tapped on the door at her back. "I bet you could take the charm off if you wanted to, and then we could go to the Fair together."

She deliberately overlooked some very obvious flaws in that plan. Firstly, that her mother would know she'd left when the Charm was struck down. Her father, too, though he wasn't as scary as her mother when angry.

Secondly, that they would have to be on high alert throughout their entire trip, eyes peeled for any sight of a family member who could spring them.

And thirdly… well, Rose couldn't really think of a thirdly at that moment, but she was sure one was there. One more reason that seemed to be growing rapidly less important as she considered the possibility of actually _going_ to the Fair. It had become something more, something greater, something _grand_ in her mind for her mother's forbiddance, and Rose found she desperately wanted to go.

But Al was shaking his head. He didn't even glance to the door but instead pointed across the room to Rose's window. "I bet Auntie Hermie didn't put a charm on your window."

Rose followed the direction of his gesture, and a thrill rippled through her momentarily. Then it died. Then it rose tentatively once more as she glanced at Al sidelong. "We're on the third floor."

Al nodded, smiling. "Yup."

"And it's a long way down."

"Yup."

"You can't accidentally levitate us to the ground, can you?"

Al snickered. "Do you want to see if I can try? You can be the tester, if you'd like."

"No thanks," Rose said, but she was already rising to her feet and trotting across the room. A heave of her creaky window – everything in her house was kind of old and creaky – and she stuck her head outside.

It was a long way down. A long, long way. The creepers on the side of the brick wall might have offered handholds of sorts, but Rose was a practical person. She didn't throw caution to the wind for a possibility willy-nilly.

"That's impossible," she said with a frown and a distinct flutter of butterflies in her belly that was more of a sickening lurch. "We'd never make it, not even if –"

Al slung a leg over the windowsill before Rose even realised he was at her side. His jeans were as holey and stained as ever, a fact that Rose had always noticed was strange given that every other member of the Potter family was generally well-groomed as per her aunt and uncle's stipulations. Al had probably sweet-talked his way out of being ordered; he was good at that.

"Don't be such a pansy, Rosie," Al said as he swung the other leg over the sill. "It's hardly even far at all."

The butterflies fluttered with increased urgency in Rose's stomach as Al shifted to the very edge. Her hands rose unconsciously to grab at his shirt should he slip. "Al, maybe this isn't a good idea."

"Of course it is," he said, glancing towards her over his shoulder. "You want to go to the Fair too, right?"

"Right, but –"

"This can be like _The Great Escape_."

"Like the movie?" Rose's frown deepened. "Al, they dug tunnels to escape, not climbed out of windows."

"Sorry, sorry," Al said, twisting so that only his chest remained inside, legs dangling dangerously into empty air. Rose almost couldn't look. "Is that one of your dad's favourites?"

Ever since they'd gotten the new telly for Christmas, Rose's father had been rerunning what he deemed were 'classic films' of the Muggle world. For a moment, distraction with the thought had Rose shaking her head in exasperation. Only to start with a strangled sort of yelp as Al pushed himself from the sill.

"Al!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Al assured her as she hung herself out of the window. "See? There's plenty to hold on to."

And indeed, there appeared to be. Like a monkey, Al slid – and slipped at one point – down the creepers clinging to the side of the wall. His clever hands somehow managed to find the hardiest stems, seeming able to hold him despite the apparent flimsiness of the plant itself.

Rose watched with her heart climbing into her mouth. They were always conducting experiments and running through operations and exploits. It was what they did. Why, Jake Drovel's infamous book-tearing incident had been of Rose's Secret Journal they'd sketched one such endeavour in. A layout of the nearby grove, it was; the forested region had seemed somewhat smaller and less intimidating, less likely to get lost in, when it was properly mapped.

But this was different. This was dangerous. Rose's fingers curled around the weathered windowsill as she watched Al's slow, then fast, then slow descent. He was humming to himself, and it was only with an instinctive eye roll that Rose could assume her usual candour through her concern. "Are you singing the _Mission Impossible_ theme tune?" she asked.

Al tipped his head upwards and grinned at her. "Your dad made you watch that one too?"

"You're an idiot."

Al only poked his tongue out at her before climbing the last few meters to the ground. He jumped far enough that Rose flinched slightly, staggered several steps, then stumbled backwards and sketched a bow facing towards her window. "See! Easy-peasy!"

It didn't look 'easy-peasy'. It looked 'bloody hard' as Rose's father would say. "I can't do that," she said flatly, fingers curling more tightly.

"Yes you can."

"No, I can't."

"Rose –"

"What if I fall?" Real concern rose in Rose's voice; she could hear it in the slight, embarrassing shrillness, and swallowed it down with little success. "Mum would ground me forever if she found out."

Al shrugged. "Then don't fall."

"Al –"

"It's okay. It's easier than it looks, I think."

"I don't –"

"And the creeper seems pretty strong to me."

"Al, what if –"

"Rose." Al smiled fondly up at her, hands propping on his hips. "Do you want to come to the Fair or not?"

Rose bit her lip. She did. She really, really did, but… "I don't have my shoes."

Al snorted. "Then get your shoes!"

Rose sighed. She got her shoes.

The drop seemed much further when she was seated on the edge of the windowsill. The fall was dizzying, and the longer Rose sat, ignored Al's coaxing, and contemplated just how much she truly wanted to go to the Fair, the more she came to a realisation she'd always known but hadn't really had to face before:

She had a crippling fear of heights.

"Come on, Rosie!" Al called. "If you take much longer we'll miss the Fair completely!"

"… got such a problem with it then just go by yourself, you tosser," Rose found herself muttering beneath her breath. Unfairly, a part of her rational mind noted, but at that moment it felt somehow justifiable. It hardly even mattered that Al had come to collect her, to help her slip through her mother's grounding. Rose did _not_ appreciate his assistance at that moment. She would have very likely turned and climbed back inside had he not taunted her with one particular statement.

"You don't want to let Jake Drovel think he kept you away, do you?"

Rose squeezed her eyes closed. There was _no_ _way_ she would let Jake think he got the better of her. With slightly trembling knees, she twisted and began her climb.

"I'll do it," she declared to herself as much as to Al below her. "Just watch me."

It wasn't hard. Not really. Granted, it would have been easier had Rose's hands not been so sweaty, but it wasn't _hard_. She climbed far slower than Al, only picking up speed slightly as she descended, and even managed to fling a few choice words to Al over her shoulder.

"You're doing great!"

"Shut up, Al."

"Look, you're almost there."

"I know, idiot, I can see."

Al only laughed in reply.

Rose climbed, trembled, clung, and paused more than once, but she made it. Her feet hit the ground, and she nearly slipped as they seemed to grasp the dirt in desperate adoration. _Never_ had she appreciated solidity beneath her feet quite so much. She even managed a smug smile for Al that wavered only slightly. "See? I knew I could do it. Easy-peasy."

Al was shaking with suppressed giggles. He hadn't been deterred by her indignant replies in the slightest. "Oh please, you panicked!" he said. Then he dissolved into real giggles as she attacked him with pokes and cries of, "Shut up! It was scary!"

Before anyone else, Rose might have been embarrassed for her admission of fear. But Al was Al, and more importantly than that, embarrassment was nowhere on the plane of her thoughts at that moment. The ground was beneath her and the spread of the garden around them, and reality was slowly dawning.

She was, if only for the moment, free.

Poking Al once more for good measure, she turned from the garden. "Come on, then, slowpoke. We'll end up missing the fair at this rate!"

" _I'm_ the slowpoke?" Al laughed, still holding his belly protectively.

Rose didn't deign to reply but instead led the way around the house and free from the modest garden. They started off in the direction of the Fair, down Rose's street at a quick step that was almost a jog. She could still feel her heart thundering in her chest, but it seemed to be morphing into excitement and triumph more than residual fear.

"I knew it," Al said at her side.

"What?" she asked, sparing him a glance.

He grinned widely, infectiously. "You've always been scared of heights."

Rose rolled her eyes. She raised her chin defiantly. She scowled so she didn't smile and picked up her speed, using every inch of her slightly taller height to her advantage. "Shut up, Albus."

Al only laughed again as he trotted in her wake.

* * *

The Fair wasn't particularly exciting in itself. Pop-up stalls abounded, a makeshift carousel trilled a persistent, melodious tune, and the jumping castle was a source of jubilant screams, but that was mostly it.

There was Mr Pickle's ice-cream van, as it always was, who handed them a sample cup of sorbet not quite as good as Fortescue's at Diagon Alley. There, the slip-n-slides that were hardly impressively tall after Rose's escape from her bedroom window.

The Shetland pony rides.

The performance by some teenage band on a scrappy-built stage.

The fresh-food displays from which Al and Rose both filched grapes to stuff into their pockets.

It wasn't that exciting – except that Rose thought it was the best it had ever been. Mostly because she wasn't supposed to be there. Mostly because she and Al played a game of hide-and-seek from their relatives, ducking behind stalls and shadowing Fair-goers in an attempt to shrink from sight.

Mostly because Jake Drovel saw them, and his face twisted into such disgruntlement that Rose and Al both cackled raucously enough to startle the Shetland ponies they stood alongside.

They were caught, eventually. Of course they were, and a part of Rose didn't really think they would have ever gotten away with avoiding being sprung. Rose didn't say anything as her mother swept towards her, father striding just behind, and hunched her shoulders beneath the verbal scolding she knew would come. She didn't say anything, though – because Al was with her.

Al was as much a 'naughty' child as she. He instigated their exploits as much as Rose herself, initiating experiments and concocting plans that as often as not exploding in one of their backyards. And yet Al was the shy, sweet, beautiful little child of the lot of their cousins. Nanna Molly doted upon him. Uncle Harry always deemed him 'such a quietly good boy', and her own mother had sighed and bemoaned why she couldn't be more like Al given they spent so much time together.

Rose wasn't fooled like everyone else. And she didn't feel envious or even begrudging of Al's deception. She let him play them out of their fix as her mother descended.

Rose didn't need to glance towards Al to know that he let his eyes widen innocently. She allowed him to shuffle slightly closer to him when he began to speak in trembling apology, his hand slipping to cling with feigned desperation into her own.

"I'm sorry, Auntie Hermie," he said in a wavering voice that was anything but to Rose's ears. "I just wanted to come to the Fair with Rosie so bad."

Rose's mother sighed and Rose almost saw her crumple before him. "Did you slip her past the charm 'accidentally', Al?" she asked.

Al didn't say anything. He never expressly _lied_ , except with his supposed apologies. He only exchanged a glance with Rose and let their parents think what they would.

Which they did. No one believed otherwise.

Al knew he was as devious as Rose knew she was smart. They were, she had long ago decided, the perfect partners in crime. And that fact? It made for a truly wonderful day at the Fair indeed.


	3. Like-Minded Deceit

She’d never had much of a family.

Her father. That was all. Her father and her grandparents, but she’d never really liked them; they doted upon her one moment but sneered at those around them the next.

She could appreciate a degree of deception and misdirection when she saw it. There was a certain art, a certain degree of skill, in adopting a front before a particular person to so entirely dupe them. She’d managed just as much to countless teachers and parents before to protect herself from the complaints of children who hated her for simply being _her_.

But her grandparents? She didn’t like them. And Deidre Dursley was beginning to think that she didn’t like most people who adopted that very front, hypocritical as it might be.

Until she met her cousin.

They lived in Godric’s Hollow, her father had called it. A quite little town, barely more than a village, and so much quieter, slower, _calmer_ than the inner-city flat Dee and her father shared. Trekking through the snow barely a week after Christmas, rugged up in more jumpers than Dee thought was entirely necessary but her father _always_ insisted upon, she decided that she liked it. And didn’t like it, because too quiet was boring, but… yes, she liked it a little bit, too. There was something just a little wondrous about Godric’s Hollow. Something secret. Something hidden.

Something magical.

That word meant a different thing to Dee now. Since the teacher – or ‘professor’, as the man had called himself – had arrived on her doorstep and presented her with a letter, everything had changed. It had been a joke, surely, a cruel joke likely played by those very similar to the kids at school who picked on her for speaking out, speaking her mind, admitting what she liked and wanted and cared for. Dee was a different in that regard already; she just hadn’t realised that her kind of ‘different’ extended beyond simply being a social outcast.

But magic. Hogwarts. Witches and wizards and… and _magic_. Dee had never suspected, and mostly because her grandparents took every opportunity to dismiss such ‘silly notions’ since she was young. That her homework had impossibly appeared in her bag at school when she’d very definitely left it at home? It was surely only forgetfulness on her part. That the front gate would never open for the neighbour that she _loathed_ for the woman’s condescending attitude? Well, the lock _was_ getting somewhat old. That her grandmother’s too-dry meatloaf always seemed to miraculously disappear from her plate when they visited?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Deidre. Honestly, saying such things.” Her grandmother would shake her thin head, lips pursing. “You probably just forgot that you ate it already.”

Dee didn’t forget. She knew she wasn’t particularly smart, but she wasn’t _that_ dumb. It was just one more reason she tended to dislike her grandparents. Even more so when she received her visitor and letter.

A whole world. A whole magical world of which she’d known nothing about, yet somehow seemed to click so perfectly into place with everything that hadn’t sat quite right with her. And more than that, Dee had family. A family outside of just her frustrating and distasteful grandparents. A _magical_ family.

Dee didn’t skip like a little kid on the road through Godric’s Hollow, but it was a near thing.

“Harry’s my uncle, then?” she asked for what must have been the hundredth time. She didn’t really _need_ to ask, but Dee found she couldn’t help but do so.

“Of a sort, yes,” her father said. “Not your uncle, exactly, but you could call him that.”

“And my cousins, they’re James and Lily, right? And the third one with the bad name –“

“Albus,” her father said. He spared her a slightly reprimanding glance. “Dee, don’t make fun of his for his name.”

“I’m not making fun of him,” Dee said with a shrug, for she truly wasn’t. Her cousins could be the strangest people in the world, could have the worst names imaginable – and certainly worse than ‘Albus’, though it was a somewhat old-fashioned name – and she would still be as eager to meet them as ever. “I’m just saying it like it is.”

“Yes, well, maybe we’ll try and tone down the honesty a little bit to start off with.”

“You always tell me off for being dishonest.”

“I didn’t say be dishonest,” her father sighed. “Just to show a little tact.”

Dee bit her tongue on a further retort. She regarded her father sidelong, and it was with something approaching concern. She was… a little worried about him.

Dudley Dursley was a big man. Solid, and tall, and just a little imposing, all three features of which he seemed to have passed onto his Dee in variable degrees. He spoke his mind and generally didn’t care much for what anyone thought of him. Dee liked that about her father; he wasn’t ever mean, she didn’t think, but he didn’t put up with people he had no time for. She thought it made him a much happier person.

Except that lately he hadn’t been all that happy. He’d taken to sighing an awful lot, his big shoulders sagging, and his focus turned inwards as though he was thinking too much. Dee wasn’t stupid, and she was realistic enough to know that her father wasn’t a particularly ‘thoughtful’ person. Since she’d received her acceptance letter for Hogwarts, he’d been acting… differently.

Even more differently since he’d accidentally bumped into her Uncle Harry.

Dee was worried about her father. He was the most important person to her in the world, and growing up without a mother had made him only more so. She _was_ worried – but not today. Today she was thoroughly distracted with her excitement, because she had cousins. Magical cousins. Magical cousins just like her. Dee would attempt all of the ‘tact’ she supposedly lacked for the opportunity to meet them.

The passed the snow-laden streets, ice-slick roads, and sedate, quietly glowing houses at a rapid step. Dee was all but bouncing in her excitement, couldn’t help herself, and as they turned onto a street she briefly noticed as being called ‘Eldridge Lane’, she slipped her gloved hand into her father’s and tugged him at a quicker pace. Her father allowed himself to be drawn, even if his step was a little hesitant.

The house they stopped before was large. Or at least it was large compared to Dee’s flat in the city. Two stories, of grey brick that somehow didn’t seem plain, it was ringed by a snow-speckled hedge complete with ornate iron gate. A cobbled footpath wove through the similarly snow-blanketed lawn to exactly three steps, a front porch, and a door. Dee stared for a long moment before glancing up at her father.

“That’s their house, right?”

Her father nodded.

“And they definitely, definitely know we’re coming. Right?”

“Right.”

“And they’re all nice? You said they were nice?”

Dee didn’t care all that much how ‘nice’ they were. She would have likely still been thrilled to meet them even if they were evil, but it was always a good idea to double check. Just in case. Dee didn’t think that she herself was exactly the ‘nicest’ of people – niceness had its limitations, after all – but she could hope that the Potters wouldn’t all be horrible.

They wouldn’t be. Surely.

Her father’s shadow of a frown deepened into a more heartfelt furrow. “Of course they are,” he muttered, and for some reason sounded regretful of that fact. “Harry’s nice, despite everything.”

Dee didn’t know what her father meant by that. He’d said many such cryptic words in the past weeks since meeting her ‘uncle’, and she hadn’t questioned it any of those times, either. Just as she knew not to mention Harry around her grandparents; her father seemed to have made a point of remaining close-lipped about their renewed acquaintanceship.

Dee didn’t ask. She just accepted. So, instead of prodding further, she tugged her father’s hand once more and started towards the gate. “Then why are we still waiting out here?”

The cobbled path. The steps. The doorway, a melodic chime of the bell, and then a wait. Dee bounced on her heels, a mixture of excitement and nervousness welling within her. She’d been afflicted by that very feeling oftentimes over the past weeks, what with her magic, and her new school, and now the encroaching possibility of _this_. The feeling only mounted when the door swung inward to spill a warm, welcoming glow onto the porch.

The man who stood framed within wasn’t tall. He wasn’t anywhere _near_ as tall as Dee’s father, but he somehow didn’t seem diminutive for his lesser height. Dark haired, a pair of round glasses sat atop his nose, right above a small smile as welcoming as the flooding light.

He didn’t look strange. Not in the slightest. Dee was almost disappointed after her father had warned her time and time again that morning: “Witches and wizards can be a little… strange, Dee. Just remember that. Use your tactfulness, alright?”

They could be strange.

They _could_ be strange.

The man before Dee didn’t look strange. He looked utterly normal.

“Dudley,” the man that must have been Harry said. He nodded to Dee’s father before turning towards Dee herself. “And you must be Deidre, I take it?”

“I’m Dee,” Dee said. Then, because it felt appropriate, she stuck out her hand in offering. “Nice to meet you, Uncle Harry.”

Harry blinked for a moment before his smile widened. He grasped Dee’s proffered hand and shook it with just the right amount of gentleness and firmness. “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?”

“Certainly,” Harry assured her. “The whole family’s been really excited to meet you.”

If that didn’t kick-start Dee’s own excitement to a whole new level, she didn’t know what would. She was practically already lurching through the doorway even before Harry stepped aside to allow them entry. Still smiling, he waved his hand invitingly. “Please, come in.”

The house was as welcoming as their greeting. A brightly lit hallway of high ceilings met Dee as the door closed behind her. The pale walls were smattered with picture frames of smiling and grinning and laughing faces, branching off into a stairwell that curved to an upper floor and another that trailed into the house proper. Dee continued to almost bounce in Harry’s wake as he led them inside, peering at each picture as she passed. Here, a cluster of redheaded children. There, what must have been Harry and his wife, kissing in wedding garb. A trio of smiling children that all looked younger than Dee, clinging to each other and laughing with varying intensity, and countless, multitudinous depictions of those children and many others caught in the midst of motion.

Or actually moving. They _moved_.

For a second, Dee thought they might have simply been all digital photo frames, but then reality struck and left her in awe. Not digital. _Magical_. The pictures, the actual pictures themselves – they _moved_ , and not with a recurring, film-like projection but as though the figures within had a life and mind of their own.

 _So this is a wizard’s house,_ Dee thought to herself. _That is so cool_. It was only pictures, but somehow, just that brief presence and something so disregarded by Harry himself by his apparent acceptance of their normalcy, was wonderful. This would be Dee’s. She was a part of this. Her thrill was so paramount that she hardly noticed her father paling at her side as he, too, shuffled in Harry’s wake.

Harry led them into a living room that was, apart from it’s own array of moving pictures, decidedly un-magical. Dee was slightly disappointed again, but that disappointment faded in moments when she took in the room properly. The fireplace, crackling a colour too green and purple to be wholly natural. The Christmas tree towering in the corner and adorned in a surplus of messy tinsel and baubles and ornamentation that wasn’t just ornamentation, because Dee could _swear_ those fairies were moving. There was the wide telly on the wall, and the somewhat impressive array of interlocked couches that could have hosted a dozen people or so, but such rudimentary elements were secondary to the more interesting elements.

Like the magical bits. And the people.

A woman, not quite as tall as Harry and with a head of vividly red hair, rose from one of the couches and crossed the room towards them. She smiled in beaming welcome. “Hello. You must be Dudley, yes? And Deidre?”

“Dee,” Dee corrected again, dutifully holding out her hand for the woman to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’m Ginny. We’re so happy you could both come today.”

“Thank you for seeing us,” Dee’s father said, shaking Ginny’s hand in turn, and Dee couldn’t help but glance towards him. His voice was oddly low, sounded strangely heartfelt despite his obvious discomfort.

Ginny’s beaming smile only widened. “Of course. We’re family, right?”

 _Family_ , Dee thought. Another thrill seemed to zap through her veins, though not quite distracting enough to override the introduction of the other two members in the room.

James was a little taller than she, a little older, and wore the easy, disregarding swagger of one who didn’t really care for family events but would make the required effort nonetheless. He wore normal clothes, Dee noted, just like Harry and Ginny – which was strange as she’d somehow not expected it even after Harry’s own normality. James nodded in greeting, not unfriendly and certainly without awkwardness. It was almost as though another family member appearing out of the blue was hardly worthy of comment.

Lily was younger than Dee. Younger by a few years even, and short, as redheaded as her mother. She seemed more excited than James, and beamed just as widely as her mother. “That’s pretty cool, that you’re our cousin,” she said after Ginny introduced her. “Dad said your name’s Deidre.”

“Dee,” Dee corrected for the third time.

“Alright, then, Dee.” Lily accepted the correction without fuss. “That’s really cool, though. I’ve never had a Muggleborn relative before except for Auntie Hermie.”

“Lily,” Harry and Ginny scolded in synchrony.

“Sorry,” Lily said, though she didn’t sound particularly apologetic. Dee didn’t mind. She was satisfied enough for the fact that Lily seemed even a fraction as excited as she withheld from showing.

Her father exchanged words with Harry and Ginny. Dee listened, bit her tongue against the questions that rose on the tip of her tongue, and stared around herself. A magical house, with actual magical people in it. Granted, they didn’t appear all that magical – regrettably so – but still, Dee thought it was _wonderful_.

Except that there was something missing.

“It wasn’t all that much trouble, really,” her father was saying, waving a big hand at Harry and Ginny both. “The trip was only a few hours.”

“We could definitely work out an alternative for the future,” Ginny said, sharing a glance with Harry.

“No, no, it’s fine. We don’t mind if –“

“Apparation isn’t really that bad when you get used to it,” Harry said. “And if you’re not comfortable with that, there’s always the Floo you could give a try.”

Dee didn’t know what any of those words meant, but it didn’t bother her unduly. Her distraction and the ‘something missing’ was growingly nigglingly loud. She found herself speaking before she realised it. “Where’s the third one?”

All eyes turned towards her: Harry, Ginny, and her father paused in their exchange. James glanced up from the gaming device he’d surreptitiously pulled from his pocket, and Lily paused in where she’d been plucking at the definitely-animated tree-fairies. “The third one?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Do you mean -?”

“Dee, please,” her father sighed, a little long-sufferingly, and Dee winced internally. _Oops. Tact._

“Don’t worry about it, Dudley,” Harry said, sparing him a smile before glancing towards Dee. “Do you mean Al?”

Dee instantly disregarded her self-reprimands to nod. “He’s going to be in the same year as me, right?”

“Right,” Harry said. “And he should be here, actually, but he…”

“Disappeared upstairs, like, an hour ago,” James said, turning back to his game.

Ginny shook her head, smiling fondly. “He can be very quiet and unobtrusive sometimes. You almost don’t notice him leave.” She turned to glance over her shoulder towards the hallway door and raised her voice. “Albus! Your cousins are here; come down for a moment, please!”

“Sorry, Dee,” Harry said. “I don’t know, maybe he’s a little shy?”

“He’s not _shy_ ,” Lily said. “Just because he doesn’t have that many friends –“

“Lily,” Ginny scolded her again.

“Sorry.”

“It’s true, though,” James muttered, just quietly enough to apparently slip under his mother’s radar.

Dee glanced between them. Shy. Unobtrusive and quiet. ‘Not many friends’. That last wasn’t particularly concerning, but the rest… Dee knew herself to be a loud person, at times demanding, at other times dismissive of those who couldn’t keep up with her pace. To have a shy, quiet, and unobtrusive cousin as her potential friend…

“Al!” Ginny called again. “Could you please -?”

“I’m already here, Mum. I’ve been here all this time.”

As one, the entire room turned towards the second doorway from the living room that visibly led into the kitchen. Dee peered around her father to catch a glimpse.

The boy was… small. Definitely smaller than Dee. Short and kind of skinny, he had the slight hunch to his shoulders that bespoke of constantly wavering on the cusp of nervousness. A thick mess of dark hair, as dark as Harry’s, tangled around his ears and all but obscured his eyes, except that… not quite. Maybe it was because Harry wore glasses, but _Albus’_ eyes – Dee had never seen eyes quite so wide, nor so wholly _green_.

He was definitely not the kind of person that Dee thought could keep up with her. She tried not to feel too regretful for that fact.

“Were you really there the whole time?” Lily asked, plucking at one of the indignantly wriggling tree-fairies while eyeing her brother.

Albus shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you want to introduce yourself, Al?” Ginny asked.

Albus glanced towards Dee, then her father, then back to Dee again. He offered a small smile and raised a hand in a wave. “Hi. I’m Al. Nice to meet you, Uncle Dudley. And you must be Dee, right?”

Dee nodded, unconsciously appreciating the absence of a need for correcting him. “And you’re… Al?”

Albus – or Al – smiled a little wider. Then he seemed quite content to allow his parents to take it from there.

Dee watched Al as she listened to her father’s and Harry and Ginny’s discussion, the skirting small talk that seemed to last for an unnecessarily long time. She watched Lily, too, because the fairies were certainly interesting, and James, because why was he playing with something very _not_ magical when he surely had access to every magical game in the world?

But mostly Al. She mostly stared at Al, the cousin her own age who would be in her year and maybe, sort of and a little worryingly, could be her friend.

For his part, Al watched their parents with quiet attentiveness. It was apparent he really was one of those ‘good kids’, and Dee almost frowned before she recalled, once more, her father’s reminder about tact. Still, the urge remained; she didn’t know if she liked the thought of a goodie-two-shoes cousin. They were, to her understanding, usually frustrating tattletales.

“You’re more than welcome to stay for the night if you’d like,” Ginny was saying after a progression from their trip – their annoyingly long trip – to Godric’s Hollow and the second round of welcoming with accompanying description of the dinner to come. “We have a guest room that’s always set up.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Dudley muttered. To Dee’s ears, he sounded nothing short of thoroughly awkward. “But I wouldn’t want to, um… impose.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing, Dudley,” Harry said. “Stay as long as you’d like.”

“How long?”

All eyes – even James’ and Lily’s again – drew towards Al when he interrupted in his quiet voice. Dee couldn’t help but frown a little at the connotations of the query. He might be shy, but maybe his father should coach him on a little bit of tact, too.

“Al, I know you wanted to spend the day with Rose,” Harry said, with more gentle reprimand than scolding, “but just for today, alright?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Al said, instantly dropping his chin and hunching his shoulders a little further. “That’s fine. I was just asking. Rosie said she was feeling a little lonely today, is all, so I just thought… but that’s fine.”

Harry melted. Ginny spared him a glance, and they seemed to hold an unspoken discussion in a matter of seconds. “If she wants, she can come over after dinner,” Ginny said. “But just for a little while, alright?”

Al nodded, still apparently chided, and subsided once more.

Dee stared at him. She stared, and her frown settled into one of suspicion more than disgruntlement. That was… strange. Interesting. Curious, because Dee might not be _that_ smart, but she certainly wasn’t dumb. Definitely not about things like _that_ , because that…

“Why don’t you show Dee around the house a little, Al?” Harry suggested after a time, with an encouraging glance towards Dee. “You’ll be in the same year at Hogwarts, so maybe it would be a good chance to get to know one another.”

Dee was still frowning. She was still studying Al to the exclusion of even the fairies and the magical pictures, but she nodded her acceptance immediately. Al, like the good child Dee’s father had told her Harry said he was, like the quietly obedient son he appeared, smiled another small smile, and nodded obligingly. Then he beckoned just as silently towards Dee and turned back to the kitchen, disappearing from the living room.

“Shall I give you the grand old tour, then?” he asked as she followed after him. Without waiting for a reply, he gave a small turn of the kitchen. “I suppose you can probably work out most of everything for yourself, though, right?”

“Kitchens all look pretty much the same,” Dee said, and though she was curious to see what elements of _this_ kitchen differed to her own, she was somewhat distracted by the boy that led her.

Al nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Just don’t put your hand in the knife drawer.”

Dee blinked. “What? Why?”

“’Cause kids can’t usually control their magic so well, and some of the magicked knifes get a bit antsy around it.” He gave another small smile as though he hadn’t just suggested the potential for mutilation at the hands of kitchen utensils.

Dee blinked again. “Huh. Right. Got it.”

Al’s smile widened fractionally. “Great.”

He led her around the house – into the bathroom, the dining room, then up the stairs and bypassing several bedrooms. There was minimal exchange, all with Al’s quiet voice and gentle smiles, and Dee found herself growing only more suspicious. Not because of the lack of visible magic – which was a little disappointing – but because of _Al_.

That suspicion mounted when Al led her into her room.

It was as unremarkable as the rest of the house. A boy’s room, though nothing about it particularly screamed ‘boy’. A bed with a green and blue quilt, a desk scattered with knick-knacks and pens, a bookshelf stuffed with oddments as much as books themselves. Some of those oddments were indeed interesting, the likes of which Dee had certainly never seen before, but magical? She wasn’t sure. Interesting, but not quite as much as the boy that plopped down in the centre of the room with another inviting beckon.

Not as much as the girl that was already sitting on the rug beside him.

“So this is your cousin, huh?”

Dee stared at her. A tall girl, grasshopper legs crossed before her, she stared at Dee down a rather long nose and idly brushed aside a wayward curl of her frizzy red hair.

Dee continued to stare at her until she was distracted by Al. Al, who spoke not quite so quietly and curiously enough to draw her attention. “Yeah. This is Dee, Rose. Dee, this is Rose.”

Then Dee was staring at Al. The boy who, until moments before, had been quiet, almost reserved, and nothing if not placid. He was still quiet, still seemingly placid, but something had slightly… changed. It could have been the company of ‘Rose’, or merely the comfort of his own room, but he seemed eased slightly. More than eased, he seemed…

“Rose?” Dee found herself saying. “As in, your cousin Rose?”

Al blinked up at her as he tucked his knees comfortably to his chest. “Yup.”

“As in, your cousin who you’re not supposed to have over?”

“Not _supposed_ to,” Rose said, rolling her eyes.

Al smiled. It was a different kind of smile, too; not overtly, but very definitely different. Maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed, but to Dee – she knew the elements of a ‘different’ smile. She wasn’t quite so adept at the full range of them herself, but she could recognise them. “What Mum and Dad don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Dee wasn’t all that smart at school. She didn’t really have friends, and she knew that, in general, people didn’t like her upon first meeting her. Too loud, to forward, too set in her ways. Just as much, however, Dee didn’t particularly like others.

Not until then. Not until the meaning behind Al’s words dawned upon her. Was Al being deliberately inclusive in ‘revealing’ as much to her, or was it not such a revelation at all? Did no one else see it?

Falling to her knees with a heavy thump, Dee glanced between the two of them with her own smile spreading. _Not so boring and placid after all_ , she thought. “You’re sort of a liar, aren’t you, Al?”

That was the moment. It was like a switch was flipped. A switch, and instead of a light being flicked off, a curtain seemed to be drawn aside. Rose turned slowly from her cousin to regarding Dee more fully, and there was something like growing understanding, growing respect, even, upon her face. An acknowledgement that perhaps Dee wasn’t quite so worthy of disregard as she’d previously thought. Dee liked that. She liked it a lot.

But Al was the one who really changed. Or changed again, more specifically. His wide green eyes didn’t grow any less beautiful, and his smile didn’t falter; if anything, it grew wider, too. But on top of that, a further light seemed to flood his face, and something about his posture, how he held himself – it slipped away.

Dee was just a little awed by the sight of it. She was good at tricking her teachers, at getting what she wanted from her father when she _wanted_ it, and pretending she didn’t dislike visiting her grandparents as much as she did. But she knew without second thought that her own skills at deception held nothing upon Al’s.

“Huh,” Al said, coiling an arm around the front of his legs and dropping his chin atop his knees. “I think I like you, Dee.”

Dee blinked. Then she felt herself smiling even wider. “Really?”

“Really,” Rose answered for her cousin. “It’s almost embarrassing how oblivious people can be, you know.”

“People? In Godric’s Hollow?”

“In _everywhere_ ,” Rose said with another roll of her eyes. Dee decided that, high-and-mighty as Rose might seem, she quite liked the girl. Even more so when she smirked conspiratorially to Al. “No one quite seems to realise Al’s playing the puppet-master, even after he’s gotten bored of pulling the strings.”

“The puppet-master?” Dee echoed. She wasn’t quite sure she fully understood the reference.

But Rose was still smiling, and Al was smiling too. He hadn’t looked away from Dee for a moment. Strange, how he could look both small and seemingly harmless yet wore a smile that Dee knew, could _feel_ , was something decidedly Other than innocent.

Dee liked that. She thought she liked Al, too. Sweetly innocent was _boring,_ after all, even if it did often entail ‘niceness’. She would rather a little less nice and more _interesting_.

Satisfaction growing, Dee shuffled forwards on her knees. She planted both hands flatly on the carpet before her and glanced between Rose and Al. “I’ve made up my mind,” she said. “We’re going to be friends.”

“Is that right?” Al asked.

“You’re making the decision for us, then, are you?” Rose asked in turn, still smirking.

Dee nodded. She’d always been a decisive person. “I am. I like both of you –“

“You don’t really know us, actually,” Rose said, raising a pointed finger.

Dee shrugged. “Not much, but a little bit.”

“A very little bit,” Al said, head cocking slightly where his chin still rested atop his knees.

Dee shrugged again. “Friends always start off as just a little bit, right? What’s important is that you’re both not really, really dumb, you’re both magic, we’re all going to school together, and –“ she paused, glancing between the both of them meaningfully, “you’re obviously not really, really boring.”

For a moment, neither Al nor Rose spoke. Then they exchanged a glance, turned simultaneously back to Dee, and broke into giggles.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Rose said, shaking as she bowed forwards in merriment, arm wrapped around her belly. “I’d hate to be _boring_.”

“At least you have your priorities straight, Dee,” Al said through his own giggles. He edged forwards slightly before sticking out a hand to Dee in a manner that felt strangely formal with another kid rather than an adult yet kind of nice at the same time. “Friends, then.”

Dee didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, pumping enthusiastically. “Friends.”

“The terrible trio,” Rose said, shaking her hand with the same too-adultness that Dee found herself liking even more.

“We’d be better as a four, I think,” Al said.

“Don’t be picky, Al.”

“I’m just stating a fact. Safety in numbers, but not _too_ many. And,” he winked – actually winked – at Dee a little slyly, “much less boring that way.”

“Maybe we could be,” Dee said, settling onto her knees more comfortably. Very, very comfortably, she realised; Al’s room suddenly seemed just that much more welcoming, and even more delightful for the fact that Rose – their secret company – joined them. “Maybe we’ll find a fourth person at Hogwarts?”

“Maybe,” Al said.

Then he grinned. And Rose smirked. And Dee couldn’t help but beam in something that was _definitely_ delight and entirely irrepressible. It would seem that, for the first time, things were beginning to look up. Dee was a little strange, very independent, and played to no one’s whims but her own. And yet it seemed that she might have just found the perfect people for her.

Hogwarts’ letter couldn’t have been more welcomed. The terrible trio – it was almost, _almost_ perfect, right from the get-go.

Almost.


	4. Time's A-Changing

"Never do that to me again."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad."

"No. No, it was. Please, never do that again."

Biting back a smile, Harry Potter tucked his chin. He couldn't help himself; the urge to smile had been sitting with him all day. All morning, and ever since he'd met Dudley Dursley at King's Cross Station.

It was pure chance. The purest of chances, perhaps, but maybe fate had a hand in it. What else could have urged Harry to take the train to work that morning rather than Apparate? What other forces could have urged Dudley to happen upon him there _right_ at that moment?

King's Cross had been a sea of mayhem and madness. The shroud of train smoke hung thickly in the air, the riot of voices and echoed of toots a discordant melody that was at once jarring and somehow pleasing to the ear. Harry had long ago learned to ignore the glances Muggles turned his way as he strode along the platform, robes billowing around him, but ignorance had been entirely impossible when one such Muggle stopped before him.

So big.

So tall.

Taller, even, than he had been before, if possible.

Pausing in step, Harry could only blink up at his cousin as he blocked his way. The sounds of the station around him seemed to fade away into a distant echo and all that remained was his cousin's awkward, heavy breathing. He stared as his eyes locked with Harry's for a moment before darting away.

To say Harry was surprised to see him would have been a gross understatement.

The silence could have stretched forever, and likely did for a good portion of it. Only when a particularly loud blast of a whistle sounded could Harry shake himself from his stupor. "Dudley," he said. And then nothing.

He hadn't seen his cousin in years. Decades, even. Whatever relationship they could have had was long since lost when they were little more than teenagers. Contact was absent, a moment spared to meet in person not afforded, and whatever hopes Harry might've held that they could bridge the gap that stretched between them had long ago dissolved. Until that moment, it was.

Dudley was older. Bigger, yes, but there was more than that about him. His hair was receding slightly, the wrinkles of age beginning to touch his brow, but it was more than that, too. The difference lay in his eyes, in his gaze, in the way he would dart that gaze aside before dragging it back to Harry and the utter absence of malice, distaste, or even condescension. There was…

Was that desperation? Maybe even a plea? Harry almost couldn't recognise it for its unexpectedness.

"Harry," Dudley said, and his voice was far deeper than Harry had ever heard it before. "I didn't think I'd - I mean, I didn't know I would meet you here."

Harry blinked. He should have been leaving to go to work. He should have offered his cousin — his long-unseen and all but forgotten cousin — a word, an apology, and maybe even a promise that they would meet at a later date. But he didn't. He couldn't. Words rose from within him and blurted out before he considered them.

"We're not technically meeting."

"But we've met."

"By accident."

"A lucky accident."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Never in his life had he expected to be associated with luck in Dudley's eyes. Another whistle tooted and somewhere from over his shoulder a child screeched in indignant fury about some perceived slight. "Is it really?"

Dudley's eyes wouldn't stop flickering. Away, then back again. Then away and back. Finally, he seemed to settle for staring at Harry's shoulder, and if he paled slightly further, the surprising wanness of his cheeks almost greyed; Harry couldn't blame him. The Dursley's had always instinctively flinched before a pair of Wizarding robes.

"I need your help," was all Dudley said. "It's about my daughter."

That was it, and Harry knew he wouldn't be going to work that day.

* * *

Apparating with a Muggle was a novel experience for him. Apparating with _Dudley_ of all Muggles was even stranger. When they arrived at Hogsmeade, a flurry of snow kicking up around his feet, Harry almost forgot to reach towards his cousin as he staggered and gagged with the instinctive urge of every first-timer.

"You get used to it," Harry said, patting Dudley on the shoulder. And if that wasn't awkward…

"I don't think I ever want to," Dudley said, his shoulders shuddering with heavy breaths as he bent double, hands on his knees. His ragged gasps blew plumes of smoke into the winter air, sinking briefly to curl towards his shoes before dissipating. As Harry bent slightly at his side, peering at him sidelong, he saw Dudley squeeze his eyes closed for a long moment, his cheeks paling impossibly further, before he opened them once more.

For a long time, they waited. Then Dudley straightened and Harry withdrew the distinctly awkward hand resting upon his shoulder. "You didn't hurl. Good on you."

Dudley glanced towards him, his lips tugging down on both sides. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"About which part?"

"All of it. The - the -" Dudley waved a hand vaguely in the air in a gesture that Harry could only deem encompassing of the Apparation. "The _thing_. The jumpy, teleport-y -"

"Apparation?"

"- magicky thing." Dudley swallowed thickly, audibly, and Harry thought he might actually vomit at that moment. He didn't take an instinctive step backwards, but it was a near thing. "Christ, I think I'm going to -"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, and his hand rose to Dudley's shoulder once more. Awkward or not, he couldn't help but at least try to be supportive. "You'll get used to it."

"I will?"

"You will."

"Christ…"

Harry pressed his lips together, biting back on the words he longed to say. There would be time for that. Time to impress upon Dudley the wonder of his daughter's magical nature. Time to show him that magic wasn't all that bad. It was a good thing that Muggleborn students were informed several months ahead of the rest of their cohort that they were accepted into a magical school, Harry thought. It gave them more time to adjust. And that adjustment would start with a trip to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Where are we?"

At Dudley's words, Harry instinctively glanced towards him once more. Then, in a mimic of Dudley's slow, turning gaze, he drew his own around himself.

Hogsmeade Station. It was empty, barren even, as it had so rarely been on Harry's previous visits. The length of the platform was heaped with snow, the long, wooden benches with their ornate, curling arms icily slick. The lamp posts peered with thin, orange light upon them, upon the platform beneath, upon the length of empty railroad tracks that likely wouldn't see another set of wheels until the students of the nearby school returned from their winter break.

All of it was familiar. Even years later, nearly nineteen whole years later, Harry knew it all. Right there, the little hut of a building that had never seen a train attendant in all of the six years that Harry had been a student himself. A little further along, the iron-wrought fence and gate that lined the platform's length. Further still was the point that he'd seen Hagrid in his first year, a tall, looming figure striding from the semi-darkness of evening and bellowing to the First Years as he beckoned them.

First years. That had been James the previous year. This coming autumn it would be Al. His little Albus… even the thought of the quietest of his children leaving home was more than a little daunting.

"Where the bloody hell are we?" Dudley asked in a repeat of his question.

Turning his gaze back to the cousin who had once shunned him for his magic, for his _everything_ , Harry smiled. Dudley appeared horrified, and likely due to more than the Apparation. Apparently, his past week had been something of a rollercoaster ride. How strange it was to think of the changes being wrought upon Dudley's life; Harry hadn't even known Dudley had a daughter.

"This is Hogsmeade Station," he explained.

Dudley glanced at him sidelong. "Which is?"

"Near Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? That school that -"

"The school your daughter will be attending."

Dudley swallowed again, just as thickly and just as loudly. His breath was wavering as he drew it deeply, and Harry didn't think it was for the cold. His heavy coat was certainly thick enough, almost as though he'd been expecting a long, cold trip north. "Deirdre will really be…"

Harry's hand squeezed on Dudley's shoulder. _Deidre…_ He hadn't even known her name. "She'll be alright, Dudley."

"She's really a…"

"She'll be taken care of."

"I can't believe she's a…"

Another squeeze. "She'll be alright." Then, because it felt necessary: "You all will be."

When Dudley glanced towards Harry this time, there was something else to his gaze. Something a little mournful, a little terrified, and something else that was almost hopeful. Harry could understand that, at least in part. He'd felt the same sort of thing when James, was feeling it already with Al.

"She will be," Dudley finally said. Or croaked, more correctly. Harry doubted he was capable of more than that.

Patting his hand on Dudley's shoulder — awkward; it was still awkward — he dropped his arms to his sides and started off down the length of the platform. "Come on, Dudley. I'll show you around. Hogwarts has always had the offer of opening its doors to parents to have a look around. And the Headmistress would certainly allow you the chance to see your daughter's new school."

Dudley's heavy footsteps followed on his tail, but Harry didn't need the sound to know his cousin would follow. He drew a deep breath of Hogsmeade air, gaze tipping upwards, and it was with a smile touching his lips that he heard Dudley's mutter behind him. "A magical Headmistress at a magical school… Christ help me…"

Harry smiled as Dudley fell into step at his side. "If it's any consolation, my Al is starting next year, too."

"Your Al?"

"Albus," Harry clarified. "My second eldest. Maybe Deidre might like to meet him? I've got a niece, she'll be starting at the same time, too."

"A niece?"

"It helps to have kids the same age as them starting with them. Especially for Muggleborns. My friend, she's a Muggleborn –"

"Your friend?"

Dudley was parroting. Harry couldn't help but smile up at his admittedly towering cousin. The clap of his hand on his shoulder was less awkward this time. "Dudley. I think we need to have a long talk."

Dudley's face crumpled just slightly, and he nodded with more enthusiasm than Harry had ever seen him. "Please," he said, and the single word came out slightly choked.

They strode, side-by-side, towards the school, and Harry was left to marvel at the turn of events his day had abruptly taken.

 _You never know_ , he thought to himself. _Maybe Deidre, Al, and Rose can even be friends?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this is a slow build to actually talking about my beloved quartet, but bear with me! I'm just setting the foundations!


	5. Slytherin Legacy

"I don't like it."

Drisella Goyle pouted. Her frown seemed to suggest his reply was a personal offence. "What? Why not?"

Scorpius looked down at the silver bracelet on her wrist she presented to him, studded with emeralds and utterly gaudy. He glanced up at the girl, then back to the bracelet, then up once more. Was she pulling his leg?

"Because it's ugly," he said. "Why would you want a snake-shaped bracelet? It's not even a pretty snake."

Drisella stared at him with slowly widening eyes. Her face flushed, then paled, then flushed once more into mottled colouration. With a stamp of her foot – honestly, she seemed far younger than her eleven years – she all but spat at him. "You're an arse, Scorpius Malfoy."

Scorpius frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "Why? Because I don't like your ugly bracelet?"

"It's sym _bolic_!"

"Of ugly jewellery?"

"Of Slytherin, you dolt!" Drisella's voice was rising, and would likely draw the attention of those around them shortly. Those many, many around them, very few of which Scorpius spared half a thought for.

Christmas in the Malfoy household was something of a quiet affair. Quiet, but far from sparse; there were more people than Scorpius knew crammed within its walls, and more than half those that Scorpius knew only by face or name. Curtis Hangley, a ministry worker. Michele El'Min, his father's colleague. Trina Ovaleye, his mother's friend who she secretly couldn't stand but had to talk with for societal reasons.

Others he knew only too well; his 'aunt' Pansy, his father's school friends, Blaise and Greg, a cluster of other children that he did his best to avoid conversing with. Drisella was the only one his own age, however, and she always seemed to consider that reason enough to spend time with him. And to show him her ugly Christmas presents.

She was still objecting, though her voice had died to a grumble rather than the loud exclamations that she'd proclaimed in moments before. "Only _you_ would say that, and only _you_ would even _think_ about how 'pretty' it is with what it stands for –"

"I'm sure I'm not the only one who doesn't like it," Scorpius interrupted her in a bored monotone that was entirely unfeigned. "Your mother probably gave it to you because she can't stand wearing it herself anymore."

Drisella hissed. An actual hiss, and Scorpius considered that maybe the snake-shaped bracelet was more suitable than he'd given it credit for. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Gladly."

"No one asked for your opinion –"

"Actually, you did."

"- so you can just keep your mouth shut!" Drisella lifted her chin – or lack there of, for she had somewhat weak features – and glared at him. "You're a disgrace to the name of Slytherin."

Then she turned sharply on her heel and strode into the mulling, quietly talking masses of the Christmas party. Scorpius watched her go without regret. He didn't care for her words, or that she'd left.

For that was the whole of it. Scorpius didn't care; not about Slytherin, nor 'disgracing' Salazar's name. Scorpius had long ago made his decision, had been confronted with a realisation, and it was that decision which clung to him years later. It was that decision that made Drisella's words, what would be an insult to any other member of the Christmas party but for the few ex-Ravenclaws that dotted their number, flinch and sneer in disgust.

The party was sedate and flowing with the music crackling from the Malfoy's old record player. Conversation thrummed at an equally sedate pace, between adults and children alike. Sweetmeats and glasses of champagne abounded, plates hovering magically or atop the heads of house elves scurrying all but invisible between partygoers. Everywhere Scorpius looked were dark robes, of bottle green and deep silver, greys and some few navy blues.

Slytherin. Even when Hogwarts had been left far behind them, the witches and wizards in attendance still embraced their colours. It was as though an echo of Salazar's blood ran through their veins. It was, Scorpius considered, just a little sickening. He hadn't even started at Hogwarts yet and he was firmly done with house politics.

"What did Miss Drisella say, then? She left in something of a flutter."

Scorpius shook himself from his reverie and turned his gaze upwards to where his father had appeared at his side. Draco Malfoy, tall and sleekly groomed, utterly poised in his own dark green dress robes. Tradition, he called it. Sticking to tradition.

Scorpius hated tradition.

He shrugged with as much elegance as his parents had instilled within him. "She was attempting to impress upon me the importance of inherited goods from parents still very much alive."

Scorpius' father raised an eyebrow, and Scorpius knew it wasn't so much for the manner in which he spoke. He'd been _taught_ to speak well from the moment he could speak at all. It was more likely his words themselves that spurred consideration. "And you don't believe inheritance should be deemed important?"

Scorpius met his father's eyes. Grey. A lighter grey than his own, he knew, because he'd stared at himself in the mirror enough times to discern the differences between them to take some slight comfort in that fact. "It's not unimportant," he said.

"But?"

"But." Scorpius paused. There were listeners around them, those waiting to speak to his father, those who bided their time to get a foot in the Malfoy good graces. The Malfoy name itself may still be somewhat tarnished in some circles, but in others it glowed very vibrantly indeed.

Scorpius hated those circles.

" _But_ ," he repeated, "I don't think it should be necessary for every child to adopt the legacy of their parents when it's so ugly." He paused long enough for his father's eyebrows to rise slightly higher in something like disapproving incredulity. "For instance, Drisella shouldn't have to wear such an ugly bracelet just because it was given to her by her mother."

There was a moment of silence between them. A moment in which Scorpius knew his father pondered the depth of his words. He could almost hear his thoughts: _He likely didn't mean it like_ that _. He's only ten, after all._

Scorpius meant it. Scorpius meant it very much. Some legacies were far too ugly to adopt, and many of them not of the jewellery variety. But he wouldn't tell his father that. With a small smile that was as much an allowance as he was willing to give, Scorpius dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please don't gift those hideous cufflinks of yours, Father. I don't want to _have_ to wear them."

Draco Malfoy laughed. Scorpius laughed alongside him. For that Christmas, at least, the confrontation and revelation of reality had been avoided. Not forever, Scorpius knew, but for now.

Scorpius had never been terribly fond of the colour green. Or more correctly, he was sorely tired of it, of the combination of silver and that incessant shade, by the time he grew old enough to understand what it truly stood for.

The duvet upon his bed was a rich sky-blue.

The curtains surrounding it were pale white.

The drapes about his window were a pale, sun yellow, and the polish on the sill brightened the wood from almost grey to something leaning towards bronze.

His wardrobe was a multitudinous array of colours that he rarely partook of, and not only because he usually preferred to dress in black. The framed paintings upon his walls were a shower of more colours so bereft of greens and silvers that it would be nothing if not apparent to anyone who took a moment to contemplate them.

Scorpius had even dared to add a scarlet throw pillow to those upon his personal lounge suite; the sight of his father struggling not to pop a vein would stay with Scorpius for a long time.

"Is something the matter, Father?" he'd asked, and he hadn't even bothered to attempt innocence. Scorpius had never been any good at acting. "If there's something about my choices that you don't like, I'll swap them. I swear."

His father hadn't said anything. It was a testament to how sincerely he wished the best for his son, wished for his autonomy, that he didn't disintegrate the scarlet pillow into ashes instantly.

Scorpius wasn't a Slytherin. He knew he wasn't a Slytherin, that he didn't want to be, and that left him as an outsider to the family. And yet he still loved them. He still cared for them, and had his father asked, he would have burnt the pillow to a crisp himself.

How Scorpius' father didn't realise at that moment with the pillow that his son was 'different' to those of his friends, that he wasn't quite as Slytherin as Draco was himself, Scorpius didn't know. He thought he'd given his parents all the indications he could without coming out and bluntly stating the fact.

Which was why the morning he received his Hogwarts letter, the surprise was barely short of horrified.

_"… We await your reply by no later than 31_ _st_ _July. Yours sincerely, Neville Longbottom, Deputy Headmaster."_

Scorpius lowered the letter and raised his gaze to where his parents listened with eyes downcast to their respective breakfasts. He glanced between them as they fell into contemplative silence for a moment. Then:

"I do believe," his father said as he buttered his scone, "that the Hogwarts acceptance letter hasn't changed in nigh on two decades."

"At least two decades," Scorpius' mother said, taking a sip of her tea. Her pinkie finger stuck out as always, and similarly as always, she was an image of upstanding splendour and refinement even in the privacy of their dining room. "It has likely changed very little from the early days of the school's founding."

"The archaic language has been adapted somewhat, I feel."

"Somewhat, yes."

"I wonder, do you think original copies are stored somewhere within the Vaults?"

"Surely, they would be…"

Scorpius listened to his parents' exchange for a long moment. He glanced between them, his own breakfast all but ignored, and then down to his letter. Down to the thick, smooth parchment scored in green ink.

Green. Why did it have to be green?

Scorpius waited, because his parents often fell into such meaningless discussions that all but ignored his company. He spared a glance for the fireplace crackling – faintly green – across the room. His attention was momentarily distracted by a house elf that arrived to fill up his mother's teacup. He spared the letter another glance, and then his plate of half-eaten toast a passing consideration.

He was, he decided, decidedly disinclined to eat. The clenching in his gut was something of a deterrent.

 _I should just tell them_ , he thought, and his eyes blurred slightly as he stared at the green-inked words. _I should just come out and tell them. They won't think any less of me, hopefully. Or at least, not_ too _much less._

Scorpius swallowed. He didn't know why it felt so important to let them know. He didn't know why he _had_ to tell them that their son, their only son, would be something other than the predictions the world projected for a Malfoy. Scorpius loved his parents, wanted to make them proud, to make them happy, but this…

Scorpius had never been a Slytherin. He'd never wanted to be, and not because there was anything wrong with Slytherin's expressly. It was just that… it wasn't _him_. Cunning. Deviousness. Ambition. Scorpius didn't think he lacked such commendable traits, but to say they were primary…

"… and Hogwarts will be gaining a fine new student," his father was saying, and when Scorpius raised his gaze it was to meet his father's expectant, almost approving stare. "Slytherin has not seen a Malfoy within its dungeon walls in some time, Scorpius. You'll be welcomed as you should be."

His father stared at him, quietly accepting of the inevitable. His mother glanced his way, smiling slightly, obligingly, as she sipped at her tea once more. Scorpius glanced between them, pressing his lips together firmly. There was such confidence there, such certainty in their knowledge. It almost made him angry.

Scorpius _did_ love his parents. He _was_ loyal to his family, and he _did_ want to make them proud. But this? How utterly frustrating.

He was straightening in his seat before he realised it. The sudden hitch in his heartbeat was heard as a pounding in his ears much as felt. Scorpius lowered his letter down to where his plate of toast had sat moments before; some house elf or other had clearly realised he wouldn't be partaking further.

He took a deep breath. Exhaled. Then, "Or not."

His father blinked. His mother paused with her teacup against her lips. "What?" she asked curiously.

Scorpius shrugged with as much casualness as he could muster. "Or not a Slytherin. I have to admit, Mother, Father, I've never much seen myself dressed in green and silver."

To say that the Malfoy household was thrown into a stupor that day would be an understatement. It was, but it was far more than that. There was a legacy placed upon the shoulders of every Malfoy. An understanding. A prediction, and anticipation for the first steps into the world of magical education.

Meeting first his father's widening eyes, then his mother's rapid blinking, Scorpius realised that he might be the first Malfoy to ever truly sidestep those assumptions. He couldn't help but smile; there was something truly satisfying about accepting himself for who he was. At barely eleven years old, Scorpius Malfoy made one of the greatest realisations of his life.


	6. Unlikely Comrades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please note - the new chapter is actually Chapter 4: Like-Minded Deceit. Posting across different websites got me confused with the ordering, and I'm so sorry! But it will certainly make Chapter 6 a bit more understandable.  
> Sorry too for the lateness of the reply. Really, really late. I'm truly apologetic and very ashamed. Thanks for keeping up with the reading!

How much had changed in barely a handful of months. How many sights seen, impossibilities witnessed, preconceived conceptions turned on their heads. None, however, quite so confronting as Diagon Alley. Dudley Dursley realised quite within seconds of stepping into said alley that it was no place for a Muggle.

The brick wall parted like the Red Sea for entry. The sound of an explosion tore through the air before he'd taken his first step.

A bookshop with animated novels danced to his right. To his left, a pastel-coloured store that reeked of sugar so thickly that even without the football-sized lollipops and rock candy-stuffed windows, the nature of the sweetshop would have been apparent.

A little further along, a door burst open to a billow of smoke. Another swung open to admit a customer carrying a cauldron under her arm. An owl shop standing across from a store of actual flying broomsticks.

And above it all, in a firework display that had likely been the source of the explosion, a cascade of what was _definitely_ magic burst into the air. It shimmered and fluttered, dissipating above the heads of the shoppers below. And those shoppers…

So many in glaringly pointy hats, and a good chunk of them wore sodding _dresses_.

"Robes," Harry said from his side, and Dudley realised he must have spoken his thoughts aloud. He chanced a glance towards his cousin and Harry shrugged, seemingly unoffended. "It tends to be the older generation that wears them; Muggle fashion's been creeping into the Wizarding world in recent years."

"You sometimes wear robes," Dudley said, for he'd definitely seem Harry wearing them before.

Harry shrugged again. He seemed unfazed by the opening wall, the anomalies of the shops, the incessant explosions, and sparkles, and _people_. "I wear them for work," he explained, then gestured to himself and the shorts and shirt he was wearing. "Not always."

Dudley could barely spare him a moment of his attention. His eyes felt sure to pop from his skull in undeniable wonder, but also terror. He thought he'd been ready, almost. He thought he'd _almost_ prepared himself to behold the Wizarding world and its craziness, a madness his parents would _never_ have accepted and a twist in his gut still insisted he shouldn't himself. Dudley swallowed, his throat seizing slightly, and opened his mouth to speak. To admit that he _wasn't_ ready, that he _couldn't_ do this, even if he needed to.

Until the true need for his visitation spoke up in an indignant squawk behind him. "What are we doing? Are we going to just stand here all day?"

Dudley glanced instinctively over his shoulder. To his daughter, his little girl, to where she stood just inside the inn that Harry had called the Leaky Cauldron. Her round face was flushed with excitement, but she frowned at him as though he'd done her wrong.

That was the reason. That was the very reason he was even considering daring to step into the world of magic. Because his daughter, his little Deidre…

… _We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ …

That was what it had said. That damned letter that had changed Deidre's life – had changed Dudley's – forever. Dudley was at first disbelieving, then terrified then… then…

Lost. He'd never been so lost and confused in his entire life.

His cousin Harry had saved him once. When they were children, he'd saved him from becoming 'Demented' or whatever it was. Now, Dudley would be the first to admit that he'd been saved once more. A chance encounter with Harry, entirely unplanned, unexpected, but surely the work of some benevolent God, had saved him. Again.

That had been months ago. Months, after which Deidre's – and Dudley's – tentative steps into the Wizarding world had accelerated at a truly terrifying rate. Learning about a whole knew world…

Dudley had never been someone who liked change. He'd never been wholly capable of accepting the hidden side of the world, acknowledging the differences of other people, and accommodating those differences. That, almost as much as the role magic would hitherto play in his life, had been a slap in his face.

Dudley was still reeling in shock. Deidre, however, his little Deidre, so stubborn and strong-willed and _his_ , was taking it in stride. She was excited.

Just, as it seemed, her cousins were.

Alongside Deidre, peering through the wall – or where the bloody wall had been – James and Albus stood and waited as though such a sight were as unremarkable as the casual opening of a door. Dudley was still growing accustomed to that; it still shocked him to behold his second cousins that he hadn't even known existed until six months ago. James, tall and gangly, with the hint of his mother's redness to his hair, and already adopting an easy, swaggering confidence, and Albus.

Albus was Deidre's age. Shorter than James. Smaller than Deidre, as well. As dark-haired as Harry, with Harry's eyes, too, he was a quiet kid. Deidre seemed somewhat taken with him, but Dudley was nothing if not concerned; they seemed so different, such opposites. How was it possible that Albus was supposed to help his poor daughter in her transition to her new world?

Dudley worried. He worried as he flinched with another explosion popping over his shoulder. He worried as he shuffled to the side to allow another family, half of them dressed in robes, to bypass him into Diagon Alley. He worried…

Even when Albus turned a smile upon Deidre, cocked his head like the little bird Dudley fathomed he resembled, and gestured towards the alley. "Do you want to come and explore?" he asked.

Deidre's face flushed further and she nodded immediately, though Harry spoke before she could reply. "School things first, kids."

"Yeah, school things first, Al," James parroted, though he rolled his eyes as he too stepped past Dudley and hopped down the steps into the Alley. He called over his shoulder as he descended. "I still don't understand why we couldn't have come when Teddy and the rest of the gang came," he said, referring, as Dudley had come to understand, to the rest of his cousins. "This will just take so much _longer_ to have to show Muggles _everything_."

Harry ignored his eldest son. Instead, he turned to Dudley and tipped his head towards the sprawling expanse of Diagon Alley before them. It was a gesture not unlike that Albus had turned to Deidre moments before. "Shall we get this started, then?"

Dudley didn't really have a say in the matter. Not when Deidre had decided. And Deidre had clearly decided, for quite disregarding the utter insanity that exploded and sparkled and echoed around them, she hopped after James with Albus at her side. "Come on, Dad," she called over her own shoulder with an enthusiastic beckon. "I've gotta go and get my wand!"

How could Dudley deny her that?

He followed as they took a trip into the sea of robed and Muggle-dressed witches and wizards, swimming through the mass in a manner that was just short of claustrophobic. He trailed after his daughter, cousins, and cousin's boys as they stopped at a robe store – Malkin's, it was called – at a bookstore spilling textbook out its doors, a stationary corner that was overflowing with old-fashioned quills, inkwells, and parchment scrolls. The wand store where Deidre nearly exploded herself in her ridiculous 'choosing', and into the store that had spewed forth billows of smoke and cauldron-laden customers.

An apothecary, Dudley thought. He'd always been dubious of that earthy crap.

To say that Dudley enjoyed himself would have been such an exaggeration as to be utterly wrong. Dudley did _not_. He lost his head somewhere around midday. He began to tick nervously with each glimpse of a wand, an owl, a spark of magic. Shadowing Harry and keeping his eyes locked upon Deidre's increasingly excited head as she bounced alongside her second cousins was all he could manage.

Dudley had never enjoyed shopping as a pastime, but he doubted he'd ever wanted a trip to end as sorely as he did that day.

"Alright, Dudley?" Harry asked at one point.

Was it still midday? Nearly evening? Dudley didn't know. He felt himself sweating and knew it wasn't solely for the summer heat. Dudley shook his head to clear it, blinking away the slight blurriness in his eyes. His gaze drew around himself briefly, over the heads of wanderers and shoppers alike; never before had he been more relieved for his height.

"Where are the kids?" he asked, fingers twitching with the urge to grab Harry's shoulder. They'd never been close, the two of them, but this… Harry was something tangible, something solid and knowing and supportive, whether he intended to be or not. Dudley needed that. He needed it sorely.

Harry stood before him and patted his shoulder in that slightly awkward way he was inclined to. Dudley didn't know why he did it, but he was thankful. It was grounding, somehow. "They're just getting ice-cream," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "How about you take a spell in the shade for a bit, yeah? I'll go with them."

Dudley glanced briefly to the moderate shade behind him where Harry directed him. It stood alongside the Malkin's shop, and in that moment, the relative normalcy of a simple tailor was almost more comforting than the shade itself.

Dudley should find his daughter. He'd felt the need to spend every moment he could with her of late, as much for the looming approach of her departure for boarding school as because he was terrified something magical would happen, even if he couldn't stop it. He was all she had, after all; they'd been just the two of them, father and daughter, since her mother had all but left her on his doorstep years ago.

But the shade… The moment of reprieve… Regardless of their speckled childhood, Dudley trusted Harry to look after Deidre. He trusted her because Harry _knew_ , and because over the past months, he'd not dismissed Dudley even once for their tumultuous shared past.

So Dudley nodded. He couldn't quite manage to return Harry's smile, but he nodded as best he could before all but stumbling through the loud, too-warm crowd into the shade of Malkin's awning.

Dudley sagged against the wall. For just a brief moment, to the sound of unerring chatter and more explosions, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just for a…

"This is the first time you've visited?"

Dudley cracked open an eye. Not quite turning his head, he drew his gaze sidelong to the man he hadn't even noticed stood beside him. Tall, blond hair so pale it was almost white, there was something besides his dark grey robes that labelled him 'wizard'.

"The Alley?" Dudley asked.

The man nodded. He too only regarded Dudley sidelong, his face turned to the crowd passing before them like a flowing river. He appeared nothing if not a heron peering upon a darting school of fish. "It has its challenges."

Dudley stared for a moment. Then he frowned. "You too?"

"What?"

"This is your first time? In the Alley?"

The man didn't quite snort, but something about the downward tugging of his lips, the shadow of his frown, and the scrunch of his nose, suggested it was a near thing. "No. This is not my first time. And yet, given certain… circumstances, it has always been…"

"Confronting?" Dudley said before he'd even had the thought to speak.

The man turned slowly towards him. Pale eyes fastened upon Dudley, and though the fishing heron impression was lessened none for it, Dudley felt somehow calmer. This man, despite being a wizard, seemed almost as out of his depth as Dudley. He didn't know how he knew that, but the reality of their similarity was abruptly apparent.

"Of a sort," the man said.

Dudley exhaled in a deep sigh. He still felt light-headed, still a little too hot, and he still wanted for nothing but escape from the world of magic to closet his daughter away somewhere safe. But he felt marginally better.

Maybe that was why he spoke. Maybe that was why he felt the urge to admit as he did. Quite without intention, the words spilled forth. "I'm so out of my depth. My only daughter is up and leaving to boarding school in barely a month, and I have no idea what the hell to do about it."

"Your only daughter?" the man asked.

Dudley nodded. "You have no idea how terrifying that is. She's my only little girl."

"Oh, I think I might have something of an idea."

Dudley glanced towards the man again. His voice had lowered, his gaze darting briefly towards the sea of people passing them once more. "Your daughter?"

"Son," the man corrected. "Just the one."

"Ah. It's hard."

"Very hard."

"To let them go." Dudley nodded.

"As much as to realise I know so little about him as much as anything," the man said, his voice almost a murmur too quiet to hear over the babble of the crowd before them. "I've always thought I understood my son, but as he leaves I feel as though I've begun to see a side of him I haven't encountered before."

Dudley didn't know why the man was telling him such things. He didn't know what he meant, exactly, or why he revealed his thoughts, any more than Dudley understood why he spoke his own. But that similarity, that camaraderie, was somehow comforting. Dudley straightened from his lean against the wall. "I can understand that, I think."

The man at his side stood tall, not slumping upon himself even slightly. And yet, at Dudley's words, he seemed to deflate just a little. He turned to fully face Dudley, and for whatever reason, Dudley saw almost maudlin tension in his expression. He didn't _know_ the man, but he understood that. "You can?"

"Definitely."

The man sighed, small and brief. "I don't know if I'm ready to let him go yet."

"Yeah, you and me both."

"The world is full of challenges."

"So many challenges. Terrifies the hell out of me."

"There will be those that will hate him, I'm sure, simply for who he is and the name he carries."

Dudley dropped his chin briefly. He understood that only too well. He'd heard from Harry of the struggles Muggleborns faced. "The Wizarding world has gotten better," Harry had said, "but there'll always be people with prejudices." Then he'd shaken his head solemnly.

Dudley still felt guilty for that. He knew Harry hadn't been referring to him, but he still stung for his own past prejudice. Swallowing thickly, Dudley nodded. "Yeah. I'm pretty worried about that, too."

The man at his side fell silent for a moment before clearing his throat slightly. "You're a Muggle."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Very. Unfortunately."

Dudley closed his eyes for a breath. "I just hope my little girl doesn't have to deal with the shit that comes along with it."

A hum sounded from beside him in what was definitely agreement. "That, sir, is something we can both agree upon. Perhaps they'll get the chance to help one another out?"

"What?" Dudley asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man gestured with a nod into the crowd before them. "That's your daughter talking to my son, is it not?"

Dudley followed the direction of the man's nod, his height once more assisting in peering over the surrounding shoppers. And he saw her. He saw Harry with his children, each holding a coloured cone and giggling or chatting animatedly to one another. He saw James throw back his head and laugh, saw Albus take an unseen swipe of his brother's ice-cream in his distraction, and saw Harry accept change from the vendor.

He saw his daughter, too, barely a step away from them. He could make out the dot of chocolate she'd somehow gotten onto the tip of her nose, the brightness and excitement that hadn't faded from her expression even for a moment that morning, and he saw who she spoke to.

He was a tall boy. As blond-haired as his father, yet even from a distance Dudley could perceive the darker shade of his eyes. Sharp-featured, the boy held his own cup of ice-cream, spoon stuck in the top, and frowned slightly – though not with visible affront – at Deidre where she chattered to him. She spoke with her persisting joviality, and it was likely her unshakeable good humour that had her approaching a stranger in the first place and striking up a conversation.

Or it could have simply been Deidre herself. She'd always been a more readily accepting child than Dudley. He was proud of that much, at least.

Dudley found himself nodding before he realised it. "Your son," he murmured.

"My son," the man echoed. "And your daughter."

"My daughter…"

A burst of laughter erupted from Deidre, nearly causing an ice-cream spill, and the blond boy – he didn't quite smile, but his frown faded just slightly. Dudley found himself slowly sagging into something that wasn't quite relief but felt a little like it. "Maybe we might just be seeing a little more of one another in future," he finally said. Then he turned and offered him a hand to the man. "Dudley Dursley."

The man paused for a moment. Only a moment, however, and seemingly more hesitant than deterred by the gesture. Then he reached a long-fingered hand forth and grasped Dudley's in turn. "Draco Malfoy," he said. "And maybe we will."

Dudley shook the hand of the man who had possibly, sort of, almost become his first Wizarding friend. Or acquaintance. Comrade-in-arms, maybe. The Wizarding world, he knew, was a big place. Huge, even, and Dudley wasn't sure if he was capable of understanding it, or saving his daughter from it. But as he shook Draco's hand, something eased just slightly.

_At least I'm not alone in this boat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the chapter - and continue to like this story, if you've read preceding chapters. Please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! As any amateur writer, I live for and breathe feedback.


	7. Four Is The Magic Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am SO SORRY for the absolutely massive delay in updates. My muse kind of... died, and it's taken a bit of a time to revive them. Hopefully I'll be able to update a little more regularly from now on; I've got at least a couple of chapters still in my inventory, waiting to be editing, so no more long wait at least for a while.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter, and thanks for sticking with the story!

The rapid heaving of the train's engine was almost deafeningly loud as it echoed across the platform. Coupled with the announcement of departure, not a word from the waving spread of families left behind would have possibly been heard by the passengers within.

"Do you suppose they bought it?" she asked.

Students squeezed against one another to peer or lean or wave out of the windows in return. Bellows of "bye!" and "love you, Mum!" rang doubly loud throughout the carriage.

"I think we did a pretty good job of it," he replied.

"Even me?"

"Even you. I was sort of impressed you managed to pull your part off, actually."

A toot of the engine, an increasingly loud _chug-chug-CHUG,_ and the train was drawing away from the platform. The echoes grew more pronounced, the sea of waving families swiftly becoming lost with their departure, and Al…

He wouldn't claim that a touch of nerves didn't niggle at him slightly, but it was only a little. Besides, it was far less pronounced than the excitement and satisfaction of actually leaving to start school. That his father had all but accepted that he wasn't going to be a Gryffindor made it all the better. Al didn't truly care what most of the world thought of him, nor if his uncle Ron would be horrified that he _wasn't_ to be a Gryffindor, but it was nice to think his own father wouldn't care.

"So, you're free to not be a Gryffindor," Rose was saying out at his side. "And I'm fairly certain that I'll be alright wherever I go so long as I'm not sorted into Slytherin."

Al finally pulled his head back in through the window of the carriage. Most of the other students were similarly withdrawing, all but climbing over one another to hasten towards a cabin and the promise of seats, a long ride with friends, and the momentary liberty from adult eyes. Al pressed himself against the side of the carriage to await their dispersal and turned towards his cousin. "Pity for you."

Rose drew her lips to the side. "You know, you could go wherever you wanted, probably."

Al shrugged. "Probably."

"Ravenclaw?"

"Probably."

"Or Gryffindor if you wanted."

"Pro-bab-ly."

Rose scrunched her nose. "Too bad we both kind of know where we'll be."

Al smiled. "Definitely."

The fact of the matter was that Al wasn't all that scared, regardless of the façade he'd presented to his father barely moments before. He wasn't concerned for the future, for what lay ahead, and for the potential of teasing and disapproval that was likely to face him being a Potter and aberrant from his Gryffindor heritage. Al had long ago accepted that fact about himself, just as he'd accepted that his family probably wouldn't be quite so understanding.

There was nothing wrong with them, and it wasn't their fault. They just wouldn't understand. Uncle Ron in particular would probably pop a vein when he found out.

The jumble of bodies pressing around them gradually subsided, and with Rose at his side, Al grasped the handle of his trunk and led their trundling way down the almost-too-narrow aisle. It wasn't that he didn't feel a little guilty for tricking his parents, because he did. A little. Sometimes. But mostly, Al accepted it for the necessity that it was. Not everyone could be good and nice and _Gryffindor_ , and certainly not all the time. Some people just had to pretend they were.

"What did your dad say to you, by the way?" Rose said from behind him.

Al paused in step to await the jumble of older students heaving their trunks through a cabin door and glanced over his shoulder. "Just before? On the platform?"

"Yeah."

"He thought I looked worried, I think."

"You did," Rose pointed out, a touch of amusement to her words.

"So did you," Al replied.

"I was just copying you. But seriously, what did he say?"

Al picked up his pace once more when the students ahead of him disappeared into their cabin with a clatter of the door. "He said that it's okay to be in whatever house."

"That's good."

"And that you can sort of pick where you want to go. Apparently the Sorting Hat takes your decision into account a little bit."

"I knew it," Rose said, though not pride but satisfaction touched her tone. Al knew Rose was smart. Very smart, even, and she prided herself on that fact. But she was far from arrogant; the majority of her thoughts, hypotheses, and speculations she kept to herself.

Al had long ago encouraged her to write those thoughts down, which she did. Her Secret Journal had become a gold mine for mischief-making ideas for the both of them.

"I told you, remember?" Rose continued. "I told you that I thought the Sorting Hat must take preferences into account."

"I remember," Al said.

"I said I thought so, and that's why pretty much every Weasley is in Gryffindor."

"You did."

"I mean, it was probably pretty obvious 'cause otherwise I think Mum would have been in Ravenclaw, but it's satisfying to have confirmation that…"

Al listened with half an ear while pretending to give his cousin his full attention. He was good at that, he knew. Good at pretending, but more than that, good at affording partial attention while retaining the most important pieces. He split that attention between Rose's continued analysis of Sorting House magic that, "must be really, really old magic, 'cause I've never read anything about how they managed it," and glancing into the cabins as they passed them.

He recognised faces. Some were older students that he'd happened upon before in passing, in Diagon Alley. Others he knew as friends of his cousins or brother. He saw his cousins Dominique and Louis, for whatever reason sitting with one another rather than their respective friendship groups. He passed Molly in a cabin exploding with Gryffindor chaos, and Fred, whose cabin was so subdued that he and his friend closeted within were surely up to no good. Al met Fred's gaze briefly as though some magical sense caught his cousin's attention. Fred smiled without a hint of innocence.

And then, nearly at the very end of the carriage itself, Al paused.

Rose nearly knocked into him, still talking. "… so I thought it might have something to do with the imprint of magic upon the school walls and – what? Al, why're we -?"

Al spared her another glance, a brief smile, then tugged open the cabin door he'd stopped alongside. "Hi, Dee," he said before he'd taken a step inside. "I didn't see you on the platform."

Within, Al's cousin turned towards him. Deidre Dursely was a heavyset girl. Tall, broad-shouldered, round-faced with a braided rope of mousy-brown hair, she was nothing short of a presence wherever she went – and yet that presence had very little to do with her physicality. Dee was loud, outspoken, and entirely dominated most conversations when she got a foot in.

Oftentimes, Al didn't let her get a foot in. He'd had a lot of practice over the past few months.

"Al!" Dee said, grinning and rising to her feet as though they hadn't seen one another only a few days ago. "Hi! I guess you found me. Sorry I didn't wait for you on the platform, but Dad thought I should get on early to make sure I got a seat, and he was right since almost all of the cabins already had someone in them by the time I got on, so…"

Once more, Al listened with half an ear. He liked his cousin, as much for her unexpected perceptiveness and ready acceptance of his 'quirks' as because of their blood-relatedness. But the second person in the room was certainly more interesting at that moment.

Al had only met Scorpius once before. Once, and only briefly, though he'd made a point of sending the other boy a letter or two since their accidental meeting at Diagon Alley. Not that it had even been much of a meeting; Dee had spoken to Scorpius, but Al barely had time for a brief greeting and introduction before Mrs Malfoy had urged her son away with a distracted air and a word about 'finding your father'.

Al was curious to say the least. And Scorpius, it seemed, was at least a little curious in return. He'd certainly been prompt enough in replying to Al's letters.

As soon as Al stepped into the cabin, Scorpius turned his attention towards him. He was a sharp-featured boy, with pointed chin and pointed eyebrows, and his eyes were so dark that they seemed almost black. The black-and-white impression was only emphasised by his paleness, the white-blond of his hair, and the fact that he was dressed in monochromatic black.

Al couldn't help but smile at him, despite the utter lack of expression Scorpius directed towards him in return. He appreciated the aesthetic he'd chosen for himself. It spoke a lot of an otherwise blank person.

"Hi, Scor," Al said, sidling into the cabin. "I'd hoped we'd see you on the train."

"- when _I_ said that this was _my_ cabin so they could just go away," Dee continued, regardless of Al's speaking through her.

"Scor?" Scorpius asked.

"Al, do you need a hand with your trunk?" Rose asked from behind him. "You're kind of short."

"Yeah, I thought it had a nice ring to it," Al replied to Scorpius. Then he turned towards Rose. "I'm not _that_ much shorter than you, but thanks _._ " Then to Dee. "You don't mind if we share with you, do you? Good job on getting a whole cabin to yourself."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow slowly as he stared at him. Rose wordlessly heaved their trunks overhead. And Dee, pausing for breath, grinned a little smugly. "Dad always says if you get something first, you should stake your claim on it. Don't let anyone take it from you."

"A good motto to stand by," Rose said. "Unless it starts a fight or something."

"There's nothing wrong with fighting," Dee said with a frown. "I practice boxing on the weekends, you know."

With trunks stowed and Dee still chattering, Al fell back to listening with half an ear. He plopped himself down into the seat at Scorpius' side, meeting the eyes of the boy who, for whatever reason, still stared at him as though he couldn't quite figure him out. "Nice to properly meet you," he said.

From his periphery, Al saw Rose take the seat at Dee's side, folding her legs in the gangly way she was prone to that somehow looked both awkward and natural at the same time. She turned her regard to Dee as Dee continued with her chattering. She was clearly excited, Al suspected. And probably nervous, too. Dee had admitted to feeling both on numerous occasions leading up to September the first.

"We already technically met," Scorpius said.

"I know. I remember."

"Glad to see I made an impression."

Al bit his bottom lip to suppress the urge to laugh. The way Scorpius spoke – Al was used to Rose using big words that she'd learnt from her books, and had even adopted a degree of her vocabulary for himself. But Scorpius sounded different. There was something about his tone, the way he spoke, the enunciation, even, that sounded simply _different_. Proper, almost.

It was probably the pureblood in him.

Al discarded the thought as soon as it arose. It wasn't relevant. He would no more label Scorpius with assumptions than he would accept and assimilate to those made of himself. Kicking his legs slightly into an idle swing, Al tipped his head to peer at Scorpius more completely. "You did, kind of."

Scorpius' eyebrow rose once more. "Meaning?"

"On Dee." Al nodded his head towards his cousin, who had taken to pointing out the window as she talked Rose's ear off. For herself, Rose was already pulling her book from her pocket, unravelling it from its Shrinking Charm. She still listened, Al was sure, despite dropping her gaze to the pages. Rose was good at multitasking, too. "She said you were interesting."

Scorpius spared Dee a glance. "Did she?"

"Yup."

"I can't imagine why. We hardly even talked."

"I think it's probably more accurate that _you_ hardly talked," Al said. "Dee tends to talk a lot."

Scorpius eyed him sidelong. "I had noticed that."

"From before, or since you sat down in this cabin?"

"Both," Scorpius said, the barest hint of a smile twitched the corners of his lips.

Al decided then. He wasn't sure what was the final deciding factor, but it was likely the same urge he had to so wholly engulf Rose in his confidence. The same reason he'd felt it was 'okay' to let his guard down in front of Dee months before, just to see if she was as aversive to who and what he was and pretended he wasn't for his family's sake. It was for that same reason that Al decided.

That, and the fact that it was Scorpius Malfoy at his side. Everyone knew about the stigma against the Malfoy family. If that wasn't reason enough to laugh in the face of the Wizarding world's assumptions, Al didn't know what was.

"I like you, Scor," Al said, because he'd always found that stating such things aloud was the quickest way to get to the meat of the matter. "I hope you'll stick around."

Scorpius' eyebrow rose slightly. "Scor again?"

"Scor."

Scorpius blinked slowly. "It sounds weird."

Al shrugged. "I think it suits you."

Nothing much changed in Scorpius' expression, but Al was given the impression that he was surprised. The twitch of a muscle in his cheek, the slightly faster flutter of his blinking, the barest thinning of his lips. He had a good poker face, Al thought. Or a good _blank_ poker face. It just wasn't good enough to fool Al.

"Stick around…" Scorpius finally murmured, speaking through Dee's sighing ponder of, "When do you think the lunch cart will come around?" He regarded Al with the slightest of frowns. "Just what do you mean by that?"

Al absently drummed his fingers against the edge of his seat. "Mean by what?"

"You mean stick around now, in this cabin, or…?"

Smiling, Al shrugged. He shuffled back in his seat slightly, just enough to edge maybe a little closer to Scorpius. "Hopefully both. I like it when the people I like stick close."

Scorpius' eyebrow twitched again. That almost-smile niggled at his lips. He stared at Al to the sound of Rose rationalising Dee's askance with, "I'm sure the _lunch trolley_ will come past at a much more reasonable time. Like at _lunch_." Then Scorpius tipped his head slightly in a nod. "I suppose that would be alright."

Al beamed. Turning towards his cousins, he stretched a foot across the distance of the two train seats and nudged Rose's knee. "Hey, Rosie. Scor's going to be our friend now."

"Scor?" Dee asked.

"You just decided that, did you?" Rose said without a hint of surprise or objection to her words.

"Scor does sound kind of…" Scorpius murmured.

Al nodded. "Yup. I've decided. I hope you don't mind, 'cause he kind of fits us."

He didn't need to explain. Not to Rose, who turned her regard towards Scorpius, for once abandoning her attention for her book. Not to Dee either, who nodded in sombre understanding. Not even to Scorpius, who turned his attention back to regarding Al sidelong. It was apparent to them all. A feeling. A _knowing_.

Call it magical senses tingling, but Al simply knew that, from that point onward, they had begun something grand.


	8. Interlude: The Learning Process

Carma Institute wasn't truly a prison.

Not a prison in name, nor intention, nor truly in the capacity of its residents. But it did have a routine, and that routine was one August Ashberry learned from his very first day.

They would be woken at seven o'clock on the dot. Rooms would be straightened, beds made, clothes adorned. Breakfast was held from seven-thirty until eight-fifteen, and residents made their own way down to the mess hall.

There were no escorts. There was no checking of pockets to be sure that none of the crappy plastic cutlery was stowed away and snuck from the hall. In many ways, August thought it was a more effective means of instilling boundaries; it would feel almost petty to abuse the leniency.

The residents of Carma were borderline criminals, but petty? Never.

Thus would proceed a day of monotonous consistency. Working in the menial tasks available, from washing and cleaning to putting rudimentary carpentry or electrical or mechanical skills to use. All by hand, of course, for Carma didn't allow the use of wands. It didn't allow for magic in any of its forms. Work was broken by lunch, by afternoon group sessions, by outdoor leisure time – though 'outdoor' was a vague term for what was essentially an underground greenhouse. It was nice enough, August supposed, but not as good as outside.

Then was dinner. Another two hours of leisure, then into their rooms for bed. Or for 'night time', as the case may be, for ten o'clock was certainly too early to sleep after such a sedate day.

That was it. That was the routine. August had it down pat, learned to a T, within days. He could even predict the exact moment the chiming of the bell to call an end to whatever currently engaged him would sound. It was like clockwork. Boring, even.

Except for the fact that August could study those around him.

Azkaban was the primary prison, but it could hardly be deemed the only correctional facility of Wizarding Britain. It was certainly the worst, and August was more than happy to keep as far from it as possible. There was Stoneaster Keep too, a somewhat less gruelling but more coveted facility to the north. There was also Grayborn Housing that was more of a rehabilitation centre than a true prison. Each were filled with 'troubled' individuals, those in need of correction, those that had committed wrongdoing not quite so heinous as those of Azkaban's inmates.

Carma Institute, August knew, was the best of the lot. More than that, it was the most coveted of them all. No one in the entire world knew where Carma stood but those who worked there, and they were few enough.

The reason for that was primarily the nature of its residents. They were without fail upstanding members of the public turned just a little corrupt. The wealthy that had taken a slide from their mounds of gold. The trouble-makers that caused mischief, yes, but not enough to warrant convict treatment, and all had the money and familial support to get a foot in Carma's door.

August was one of those lucky few. The Ashberrys were an old family, quietly wealthy, and that he had been led astray by some of the lowly dwellers of the Wizarding world was a fact not only shameful but also in need of secretive and hasty correction. Thus, Carma. August would 'do his time', would learn more constructive means of using his magic, his skillset, and his leisure, and would be let loose when his supervisors deemed suitable. Just like everyone else, for that matter – the famous names of the almost-criminals and otherwise.

Boredom and monotony enabled and even encouraged August's study of his residents. Peter Patellie, for instance, had made news headlines less than two months ago; a frightfully intelligent young man, he'd taken to experimenting with potions and had subsequently produced a rather noxious and highly addictive drug. The narcissistic genius that he was had named it Patel. His parents were successful enough to be able to provide the best 'correction' for Peter.

Mary-Belle Lucas came from a ridiculously old family. A cantankerous bitch, she'd upturned the River Thames not once but twice in a fit of drunken magic. She had a propensity for drawing Muggle attention to the Wizarding world that needed to be fixed. Carma Institute provided fixing.

Teagan Cockleburn – August had seen her on the telly nearly six months ago – and Gordon the Gorgon as he named himself, despite the refined good looks his illegal use of charisma charms had given him. Walsh Sesson, Kleo Han, Xiu Chen, and the young man the world simply knew as 'Anderson'. Many of them August had already known of before checking into the institute, and it was nothing short of fascinating to meet them. They were, in a way, idols for up-and-coming well-born troublemaker.

None, however, were quite so iconic as the Novus.

"Don't call them that," Uggie Joan groaned as he rolled over on his bed.

August cast the other man a glance across their darkened room. It was past ten o'clock and lights were technically out, though August had access to a bedside lamp should he desire to do something constructive and 'good for his mind' like reading. Or annoying his roommate, as it were.

Uggie Joan was not one of the people August had known of before entering Carma. He was, however, something of a long-term resident. If anyone could answer August's questions it would be him. _If_ he actually bothered to answer those questions, that was.

"What am I supposed to call them, then?" August asked.

"Don't call them anything" Uggie replied. "Just leave them alone."

"But –"

"Ashberry. Seriously."

August frowned. "But don't you want to know?"

There was a shuffle and shift, the sound of the unexpectedly comfortable issued bed squeaking as Uggie rolled away from him. "It's none of your business, actually. Them four – you should stay away from them."

August had heard those words countless times. In any other context, from anyone else, they might have been a warning. A warning to avoid danger. Except that here, in the institute, is was something other. The _Novus_ were something other. August wasn't the only one who held them in more than a little awe.

As he watched everyone, all of the residents and staff alike, collating knowledge as he was want to do – and as he'd been very much reprimanded for doing in the past – August learned them. He learned of them and what they were –their quirks, their interesting insights, their wonders, even. But he studied the Novus most of all.

When he could, that was.

For truthfully, the four young people, younger than August had fully comprehended before seeing them in person, were elusive. They worked, as did everyone, and they attended the mess hall. They attended group sessions too, and sometimes even contributed their piece in discussions. It was never anything remotely profound or revealing, but it was participation nonetheless. But otherwise… nothing.

August had tried to meet them, to talk to them, to sit at their table upon more than his first breakfast. Uggie had been the one to drag him away when he'd tried, however.

"Are you an idiot?" the man had hissed in his ear at the lunch break of his first day. "Didn't breakfast teach you anything?"

"What?" August had squawked back. "What are you -?"

"You don't sit with them. No one does."

And that, August learned, was how it was. Not from fear but from unabashed respect, no one else sat at the Novus' table. They were, of a sort, Carma royalty.

Despite his forbiddance, however, August still watched. And despite their elusiveness, he still learned of those royal members. They were, to his eyes, nothing short of fascinating, and mostly because they were so real. Albus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Weasley, and Deidre Dursley: they had become almost a folk tale from the second they'd stepped out of Hogwarts school's gates. Perhaps even before then.

Deidre was the one August noticed the most. It was likely because she was the loudest, the most present, and seemed utterly uncaring of the attentiveness of those around her. She walked where she would, occasionally inserting herself into conversations, and seemed to have adopted the persona of an entitled queen that everyone else acknowledged and duly abided by. A large woman, as much for her breadth as her height, it was impossible to miss her as she passed.

August stared. He couldn't help it. Deidre emanated utter confidence, walked with something of a swagger, and cared not even for some of the more questionable residents like Frank Wittcombe. Frank had actually killed a man, a fact that gave August more than enough incentive to steer clear of him.

But not Deidre. In one of the few times August actually saw any of the Novus in the underground greenhouse yard, she strode directly up to where Frank lazed in a ring of his own admirers. Surprisingly loyal admirers too, given that he'd only arrived the day before August himself. Deidre planted her feet firmly, towered over him, and punched him in the nose.

Weeks after the event, August could still hear Frank's yelp of surprise. He could still see the moment he crumpled to the ground, lolling and dazed. His admirers scattered like chickens escaping a fox-invaded coop. Deidre frowned down at Frank, and when she spoke it was loud enough for most of the greenhouse to hear.

"I'm watching you, Wittcombe. You even look sideways at anyone with the thought of doing damage and I'll drag you until you can't feel your teeth in your skull anymore." She bent over him just slightly, and from his position it must have truly been menacing, for Frank seemed to shrivel before her. "I mean it."

August didn't know what Deidre had meant by her words, wasn't sure if it even made logical sense, but the gist of her threat was felt by not only himself. Frank didn't cause any trouble. Not a whisper of it.

Deidre, it appeared, was utterly fearless. And, of a sort, almost a stand-in law enforcer in Carma. She stood for no nonsense, and it was breathtaking to witness and silently abide by. It was better to allow Deidre her passage.

It was better too, it appeared, do allow Rose Weasley her head. She wasn't as mouthy as Deidre – or at least not in the same way. She still spoke in a drowning torrent whenever someone confronted her. She still leaped upon any offence to one of her three comrades with tongue lashing like a whip and leaving a thoroughly chastised and temporarily mute victim in her wake.

Yet Rose was all but absent. It had taken August a long time to work out just where she was for most of the day. As it happened, the 'where' happened to be in one of the most restricted areas of the Carma.

Rose worked in the library.

Of course she did, August thought in hindsight. Everyone knew Rose Weasley was nothing short of a genius, and that she practically ate books for breakfast to absorb their knowledge. The brightest witch of her generation, many claimed, and August would believe it. How else would she have gotten herself into such an exalted position as to have direct access to Carma's records? How was that even possible?

August didn't know. He knew very little about Rose at all but for the fact that she didn't interact with anyone outside of her circle but to chastise or undermine. That isolation was somewhat enabled by the fact that, somehow, she and Deidre had been roomed together. August didn't quite know how they'd managed that – surely there was some kind of rule to prevent co-criminals from being roomed together – but if anyone could manage to land themselves in ideal circumstance, it would surely be Rose. Elusive, aloof, disregarding Rose.

Who was by no means as elusive, aloof, and disregarding as Scorpius Malfoy.

The Malfoy name carried weight. In some ways, that weight was even more pervasive than the Potter name and the old but less formally upstanding Weasleys. It hadn't altered even slightly in the years that Scorpius had very decidedly changed the Malfoy image, either.

Which he had. Drastically. The aloofness, the superiority, and the general disregard for every other person Scorpius interfaced with was the same as many of the worst stories of the Malfoy family, but everything else? Everything else was utterly different.

August was intrigued by Scorpius, and mostly because he could barely learn anything about him. Hardly seen, hardly heard because of his close-lipped manner, he was nothing if not deterring to everyone who even dared approach the Novus' table. If August were to describe it, Scorpius would be a lounging beast splayed exactly where he wanted to be and regarding the world with a threatening, hooded stare. A cat, maybe. A giant cat like a tiger, or a jaguar, and leaving much the same impression. August feared he would lose his head should he drift too close to him.

Scorpius was the unknown entity of the quartet. He was intelligent, or so the rumours said. He was ridiculously magically adept according to those same rumours. A political and social mastermind, even if he rarely interacted directly. He was savvy in the ways of the regal, old-blood world that none of his three accompanying families partook of.

Or so August had been told. No one really knew anything about Scorpius Malfoy, and despite August's unshakeable desire to know just about everything, it would likely remain that way. The one and only time he'd accidentally – very accidentally – bumped into Scorpius, he'd believed that he would truly have his head removed.

It was in the showers, horrifyingly enough. In the showers and stumbling through steam and over slippery tiles to escape the half-empty stalls. The room so thickly humid it lathered August's towel-dried skin in a sweat-like sheen. That blasted steam had momentarily blinded him, which was how he walked straight into Scorpius.

The terror of being caught by Scorpius' dark-eyed gaze, hooded and utterly deadly, couldn't be encompassed by words. Even only half dressed with nothing but a towel around his shoulders, Scorpius was… yes, he was terrifying. It didn't matter that Scorpius was a whole year younger than August, or that he couldn't use magic any more than August could in Carma's magical constraints, or that there was no actual evidence that Scorpius' gaze could flay a man where he stood. August still trembled.

When Scorpius blinked, it was all he could do not to flinch. "What are you doing, Ashberry?"

August swallowed. "I'm –"

"Have you suddenly turned blind?"

"I… what?"

"Deaf, too? How unfortunate."

August did flinch that time, if only because Scorpius' eyebrow twitched. "W-what?"

"Were you intentionally following so closely behind me in an attempt to glean an insight into my own personal life, or that of my family? To add to your inventory of knowledge that I can assure you is far from as secretly horded as you seem to think?" He blinked languidly. "Or was it simply to determine whether I preferred boxers or briefs?"

August had no reply. He was a rabbit caught in a viper's stare, and it was only with belated relief after Scorpius turned away that he registered he hadn't lost control of his bowels. The confrontation was a slap in the face in more ways than one, and not the least to learn that his 'intelligence gathering' was indeed not quite as secretive as he'd assumed.

Scorpius was terrifying, he'd learned that day, and August was entirely relieved that he remained as elusive as he did.

In many ways, however, he wasn't the most spine-chilling member of the Novus. Nor was Deidre with her bloody fists and unwavering demands that compelled compliance. Not Rose, either, who seemed nothing if not delighted to leave gobsmacked and stupefied intellectual inferiors in her wake.

In August's opinion, Albus Potter was the truly dangerous one.

Albus always smiled. That was something August noticed. Not the same smile, but there was always a smile; small and thoughtful, amused and just short of laughter, chiding, or dismissive, or exasperated. There were so many of Albus' smiles, and August's inventory of information expanded with them every day.

That wasn't what was threatening, however. Not because those smiles so clearly hid something far deeper beneath them. Not because Albus had reportedly dissolved his first roommate into a quivering mess of obedience that had inevitably led to the Potter and Malfoy rooms becoming a combination to spare the rest of the residents. It wasn't because Albus sometimes took himself to the library with as much entitlement as Rose simply because he could, or because he was the only resident August knew of that could – and did – address the higher-up staff by name and with familiarity.

It wasn't even because, in a different kind of way to Scorpius', Albus' gaze was… terrifying. Intent, beautiful in its unique green, utterly captivating – and terrifying when it locked upon August one dinner as he'd been studying him.

Even more terrifying when, after Scorpius had left him in the showers turning to jelly-legged relief, he'd gathered himself, half turned, and been confronted by that stare.

Albus wasn't a tall man. He wasn't imposing like Deidre, nor leggy to the point of gangly as was Rose, nor toweringly aloof like Scorpius. Short and slight, there was nothing about him physically that should have been disconcerting. Except for the fact that he smiled. He smiled, and it seemed nothing short of sincere as he cocked his head slightly and stared at August.

"Did Scor scare you?" he asked.

August glanced instinctively over his shoulder towards Scorpius' departure before turning back to Albus with the assurance that he was indeed gone. Albus was plucking absently at the towel draped around his own neck, rocking barely perceivably on his feet in the constant motion August had noticed he seemed partial to.

August swallowed. Albus was amiable, and that was concerning, because the Novus were legends, and masterminds, and friendliness shouldn't be so readily offered. He shook his head. "No. No, not really –"

"It's okay. He scares most people."

August exhaled in a puff that suddenly left him exhausted. He sagged slightly. "He really does."

"It's the eyes, right?"

"It's the everything."

Albus laughed gently, softly. Kindly, even. It was so unexpectedly forthcoming and open that August was momentarily caught off guard. He stared at Albus for a moment and… there really was something very curious about him. August just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Yup, maybe you're right," Albus said fondly.

"He doesn't scare you?" August asked, more than a little incredulously.

"Of course not. He never has."

"How?"

Albus laughed again. The faint echo of it rung through the showers, strangely lilting. "Maybe because he's not dangerous to me?" Albus tipped his head like a curious bird. "But I'd watch myself if I were you, August. He's not inclined to forgive those that dip into his privacy, and certainly not in a magical manner. I'd lay off use of the Side-Eyes if I were you; he knows just as well as I do that you hardly need a wand to cast that particular spell, even if he's not quite noticed you're using it just yet."

Albus' smile widened. He reached a hand up to pat August's head as though he were a child rather than his elder. Then, humming slightly to himself, he skirted around August and followed Scorpius out of the room.

August stared after him. He knew his mouth had fallen open but he didn't care. He knew his eyes bulged, but he didn't care about that either. Slightly trembling knees, dry throat, mind stuttering, he tried to grasp what Albus had said.

About privacy.

About magic.

About Side-Eye Enchantments the likes of which barely a handful of people in the Wizarding world knew of, let alone could enact, with August being one of them. Not even those who'd thrown him into Carma had known about it, though it would have taken some dextrous shielding and negating charms to restrict its particular capabilities. It was August's party trick, his true worth, his… his…

His secret. And Albus Potter knew about it.

"What they fuck were you doing talking to Albus and Scorpius?" a voice said from over August's shoulder. It could have been Uggie, August's reluctant yet self-proclaimed nanny. It could have been someone else too, and August didn't care either way.

He stared at the vacated doorway, steam swirling through to dissipate in the hallway beyond, and his hand rose distractedly to his head where Albus had touched him. It seemed to tingle slightly, but more than that –

August's fingers retracted as soon as he touched the first hair. He huffed out another sharp exhalation and was sure his eyes must have been all but popping from his skull. Dry. His hair was utterly dry, despite being sodden but moments before. Albus had… he had… in a facility that inhibited even instinctive accidental magic, he'd…

Yes, Deidre was imposing for her physical strength. True, Rose was intimidating for her intellect, and Scorpius for the sheer weight of his presence and the uncanny aura that draped around him. But in August's mind, it was Albus that was the terrifying one.

Terrifying and awe inspiring.

"I believe it, you know," he spoke into the semi-darkness of his and Uggie's room. "All of it."

"Shut up, August," Uggie grumbled.

"What, you don't?" August twisted his neck to more fully stare at Uggie's shadowy lump atop his bed, half illuminated by the feeble glow of the bedside lamp. "You don't believe the stories? About the dragon incident, or the trip into the Burrows where they actually made it out unscathed? When they were barely nineteen?"

"Age has nothing to do with it," Uggie said, though it sounded like a feeble protest.

"Or the Mimicry Episode; that was in the papers for weeks. You can't tell me that wasn't absolutely incredible. And then they did it twice –"

"Would you shut up?" Uggie groaned.

"Or when they duped the DMLE? Just because they could, apparently. If you don't bloody well admire that, then I don't know –"

"August. Shut. Up."

But August was on a roll. It was hardly the first time he'd grown excitable speaking of the Novus. He'd grown only more awed by them the longer he watched them – or tried to watch them – and that wasn't even accounting for the preceding awe that every up-and-coming mischief-maker held for them.

"Gringotts, then," he said smugly. "That one definitely happened. And they were still in school and everything!"

Uggie's sigh was even louder this time, as though he sought to drown out August's excitement with his exasperation. "Would you please shut the fuck up?" You sound like a fucking fanboy."

"Can you blame me?" August asked, rolling more fully onto his side. "Can you honestly blame me?"

"You're –"

"Can you honestly, completely honestly, tell me that you aren't, too? Not even a little bit?"

Uggie didn't reply. He groaned again, grumbled a little, but he didn't deny August's words.

August didn't hold it against him. He didn't blame Uggie in the slightest. There was, however, just a hint of silent satisfaction in the validation that August wasn't alone. Whether in horror or terror or awe, the Wizarding world unanimously agreed on one thing:

When it came to heists and illegal magical exploits, no one was quite like the Novus.


End file.
